Hidden Memories
by AdmiralCats
Summary: (Bad Company: Book 23) Two short stories following Cpl. Hicks and Pvt. Hudson after the events of LV-426. Hicks helps Ripley and Newt adjust to a new life on Earth, and Hudson struggles with adapting to his own new life as a civilian upon leaving the USCM.
1. Part 1: Corporal Hicks

Once the _Sulaco_ was docked on Gateway Station, the Marines began the process of moving their belongings and equipment onto a shuttle back to Earth. It was a slow process, especially with people needing some injuries properly treated. Sergeant Apone began directing Private Spunkmeyer, who was walking the powerloader, toward an airlock leading into the station. Close by, Corporal Hicks was still massaging the cryosleep out of his body by rubbing his arms. The ship's hangar was cold, and Hicks longed for the warmth of his home state of Alabama. It was July, so warmth down there was a given.

"Four more weeks, man!" Private Hudson chirped. "Officially counting down now, woo!"

"What'd we say about rubbing it in?" Hicks asked.

"Sorry, man."

There wasn't a lot of chatter aside from work-related talk. They had all just returned from a mission to the barren planet of LV-426, where a colony had suddenly stopped communicating with the rest of civilization. The colony had been silenced from an infestation of hostile aliens, and there had only been one survivor, a little girl who went by the nickname of Newt. The Marines had also been accompanied by a civilian, Ellen Ripley, who had also survived a similar alien attack before drifting in cryo for 57 years.

It didn't come as a surprise to Hicks that Ripley and Private Drake butted heads throughout the mission, yet it was surprising considering both were suffering from trauma. Drake's incident was vastly different, though. At least they made up before the Marines rigged an alien derelict ship with explosives.

The squad also had a new lieutenant, Gorman, who was met with a healthy amount of distrust before proving he had the capabilities to lead them through both the hive and the derelict, and suggested destroying the derelict. Hicks had never worked with him before, and yet there was something weirdly familiar about him.

During the course of the mission, Newt had been left with Spunkmeyer and Ferro to keep her safe, and it seemed as though she had gotten attached to Spunkmeyer. Hicks spotted her standing near the airlock, watching Spunkmeyer in the powerloader. Quietly sighing, Hicks walked over to pick her up. "Don't stand near there, OK, honey?" he whispered, carrying her over to where Ripley was carrying her belongings.

Hicks had felt bad for her when he learned her story and why she was accompanying the Marines to LV-426. They didn't have many chances to talk, but he took it upon himself to help her return to Earth. Before leaving the _Sulaco_, he offered to let her and Newt stay with him, rather than leave them on Gateway. He wanted to help them start a new life after they had both lost a lot. _I've helped Drake with his PTSD. I've managed my grief. I can help them._

"We have to stop in Venice before I take you to the States," Hicks said to Ripley. "It'll be a lot of running around. I'm sorry. Just . . . wanted to let you know. And I'm sorry."

"You already said you were sorry," Ripley replied. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"It's a bad habit I have, I'm . . . sorry, I'm doing it again." Hicks set down Newt.

"How come I'm going with you and not Spunkmeyer?" Newt asked softly.

Hicks glanced at Ripley. "I don't . . . know." He took a breath. "We might have to talk to somebody about this."

* * *

The familiarity of Gorman continued to bother Hicks as he rode an elevator up to the USCM's offices in Gateway. With the mission over, he had time to think about things that were trivial and mundane. This didn't seem trivial and mundane, though, and the only reason he didn't bother talking to Gorman was his own fear. Not fear of Gorman, but fear of his memories.

_Worry about it later._ Hicks rubbed his face anxiously as the elevator came to a slow stop. The doors opened, and a couple of Marines smiled at him as he stepped out. They were just being friendly, and Hicks suddenly felt awful for not just saying "good morning." If it was morning. In space, it wasn't easy to tell what time it was.

He walked down to a small conference room, where Major Percival was sitting with a tablet and a cup of coffee. A manila folder was next to the tablet. The major glanced up at Hicks. "Hello. Good to see you back from your mission. I was getting ready to head down to meet you."

"I need to ask a few questions," Hicks said.

"Sure. Have a seat. I'll get you some coffee."

_Real coffee. Yes, thank you._ Hicks sat while Percival got up to prepare him a cup. "You got my mission report?"

"Got it almost two weeks ago." Percival placed the cup of coffee in front of Hicks.

"So you know there was only one survivor among the colonists, the little girl."

"Yes."

"Well . . . she got attached to Spunkmeyer, our dropship co-pilot. I'd like to know if it's possible for him to take care of her."

Percival opened the folder on his desk. "Spunkmeyer . . . there you are." He pulled out Spunkmeyer's documents, and read over them. He took a sip of his coffee before looking at Hicks. "I'm going to call Spunkmeyer up here to discuss this."

When he arrived at the conference room, Spunkmeyer had a look of confusion and concern on his face. "You wanted to see me, sir?" he asked, softly.

"Have a seat," Percival said, gesturing to a chair. "Hicks was telling me that the girl you rescued from LV-426 has gotten attached to you, emotionally."

"Yes, sir," Spunkmeyer replied. "Is there an issue?"

"Unfortunately, yes. You still have two years remaining on your contract, correct?"

Spunkmeyer nodded. "I could still take care of her."

Percival shook his head sadly. "You're in a job where the risk of serious injury or death is high. Are you married?"

"No, sir."

"Do you have any family, related by blood, that you could entrust with this child if anything were to happen to you?"

Spunkmeyer looked down at his lap, biting his lip. "The only person I know of is my biological mother, and she's in prison. Even if she wasn't, I sure as hell wouldn't trust her with a kid, not after she abandoned me."

"In short, you have nobody." Percival took a breath. "If there was anything we could do, we'd do it, but, unfortunately, it's not possible for you to care for this girl."

"What about the rest of my unit?"

"Not an option. I didn't make these rules. I'm sorry."

As they left the room, Spunkmeyer was quiet up until they got in the elevator. "He's got a point," he said. "I can't take care of her with my job."

Hicks put his hand on Spunkmeyer's shoulder. "Hey, when your contract is up, you'll be able to have kids of your own."

Spunkmeyer nodded, but he continued looking at the floor, tears rolling down his face. When they returned to where the rest of the unit was carrying their stuff onto the shuttle, Newt let go of Ripley's hand to run up to Spunkmeyer. There was silence as she hugged him tightly, and then she asked, "Am I going with you?"

Spunkmeyer sighed. "No."

"Why not?"

"I don't have anyone to take care of you if something happened to me. You've seen how dangerous my job is." Spunkmeyer swallowed past his tears. "Doesn't mean we won't see each other ever again." He glanced at Ripley. "I hope." He tried to smile at Newt. "Wherever you end up going, do your best at whatever you set your mind to. Don't give up." His voice trailed off, unsure of what to say next. He continued to hold her, his face wet with tears.

After the weapons and equipment were loaded onto a shuttle, the Marines boarded a second shuttle to return to their base in Venice. Hicks was glad to see just about everyone had a smile on their face, excited to see their loved ones again. He had no one meeting him, but he was proud that he had gotten everyone home safely.

Almost as soon as everyone began walking off the shuttle, they were greeted with hugs and kisses. Wierzbowski was holding his wife. Hudson's girlfriend was squeezing him and kissing him. Ferro was hugging both her parents.

Hudson noticed Spunkmeyer standing by himself, and tapped his shoulder before hugging him.

Gorman and Apone set about giving everyone passes to stay at a nearby hotel in order to have some alone-time with their loved ones, and then ordered everyone to start unloading everything. The dropship was put back in the hangar, as was the powerloader and APC. Everyone worked quickly so they could get the time they deserved with their families.

Hicks waited until everything was mostly settled before joining his lieutenant and sergeant in their office. He paused before speaking, and his pause was a bit too long, as Apone said, "You look tuckered out, Hicks."

"Well, I feel bad Spunkmeyer can't take care of the little girl," Hicks replied, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "Not that I don't think Ripley can take care of her. She got close to Spunkmeyer, that's all." He studied Gorman's face while lighting a cigarette. _Where have I seen you before?_ For a brief moment, Hicks pondered all possible places he could've seen Gorman, and then a memory struck him with the force of a freight train.

_Paulson's wake._ It appeared clear as day-well, that day wasn't very clear. It was cold and sleeting. The skies were gray-fitting, considering the occasion. Hicks walked into the parlor to kneel in front of the casket. When he stood up to talk to Paulson's widow, he remembered seeing a group of gentlemen-some officers, some enlisted-near the back of the room. His gaze settled on the staff sergeant's stripes on the sleeves of a man in dress uniform. _That was him? No, that's got to be a coincidence._

It had taken him an excruciatingly long time to get over his mentor's suicide. The pain was still there, though not as intense as it was a few years ago. The suddenness, unexpectedness, and the powerlessness Hicks felt at the time was still raw at times. The aftermath was what stuck with him, because it turned him into a different person, someone he really didn't want to be.

"Hicks? Everything OK?"

Forcing himself out of his thoughts, Hicks locked eyes with Gorman. "Yes, sir?"

"You were staring, and your eyes glazed over, kinda like Drake during the briefing."

"We're all a little tired and disoriented," Apone said. "Was there something you wanted to ask, Hicks?"

"Actually, yeah . . . I wanna take a few vacation days. I told Ripley she could stay at my place until she secures something."

Apone shrugged, looking at Gorman. "I don't see why not."

"Yeah. Give us a day to get your itineraries. Where do you live?" Gorman asked.

"Right outside of Mobile, Alabama," Hicks replied.

Apone stood up. "I'll go get that arranged for you." He patted Hicks's shoulder as he left the room.

There was silence as Hicks sat and smoked, and Gorman looked out in the hallway while gently rocking in his chair. Letting out of a breath of smoke, Hicks said, somewhat softly, "Can I ask you something personal?"

"Sure, go ahead," Gorman replied.

"Did you know General Adrian Paulson?"

"I didn't know him personally, but I did marry his niece about three years after he died. I didn't even know they were related until I met the rest of her family."

"What's her name?"

"Lydia. She's not related to him by blood. She's from his wife's side of the family." Gorman pulled out his wallet, and took out a small photograph from behind his driver's license. It was a picture of him, a smiling woman with shoulder-length dark hair, and two cats.

Hicks studied the photo for a moment. He could remember seeing someone who looked similar to her at a Christmas party. Like with Gorman, they never really interacted. "So, were you . . . at his wake and funeral?"

Gorman nodded. "My CO at the time knew him really well. He was in shock for quite a bit afterwards, and who could blame him? No one saw it coming, from what I heard."

Hicks was quiet for another moment. "I asked because . . . I started feeling like I'd seen you somewhere before, even though . . . we've never actually talked to each other until boarding the _Sulaco_."

"Does it . . . bother you?"

"Does what bother me?"

"That you just happened to see me at Paulson's wake and funeral?"

"Not really . . . Not anymore. Three years ago, it would have. I had a difficult time moving on." Hicks looked down at his lap, hunching his shoulders in nervously. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Hicks." Gorman gave him a sympathetic look. "Listen, anytime you want to talk, just say so, OK?"

Hicks nodded a little, but his discomfort over opening up so quickly was visible.

* * *

The first night back on Earth wasn't as restful as Hicks had hoped it would be. He was up at all hours, reliving the frantic escape from the derelict ship in the APC. He and the rest of the squad were bathed in red light from the sirens and warning signals. He and Apone and Gorman were shouting orders. No one could hear themselves think over the sirens, the screaming, and the screeching of aliens trying to pry open the vehicle's thick armor.

Things were not going as planned in Hicks's nightmare. He couldn't hear himself yelling. The armor came apart, and the hideous grins of the aliens were suddenly appearing all around them. Hicks began pulling his Marines toward him as he fired at the oncoming aliens. Blood exploded from everyone as they were torn to shreds. Then the creatures came for him.

Not wanting to try and sleep again, Hicks paced the hallway, and paused when he heard someone whispering in Spunkmeyer's room. He peered through a crack in the door to see Newt holding Spunkmeyer tightly.

"It was just a bad dream," Spunkmeyer whispered. "You're safe here, OK?" He gently pressed her against his chest, sighing a little. "I'm not going anywhere."

A sharp feeling of guilt and disappointment pierced through Hicks's heart.

In the morning, Newt remained with Spunkmeyer at breakfast. She sat between him and Ferro, and for a moment, Hicks could see Spunkmeyer and Ferro with children of their own. They had been dating for almost three years, and it was clear to everyone that they loved each other.

_In time, you guys will have your own kids, and you'll be good parents. _Hicks let out a quiet sigh, and returned to his watery coffee.

Apone came into the mess hall with a few sheets of paper. "Got everything you need, Hicks," he said. "You'll be leaving this afternoon."

"Thanks." Hicks glanced over at Spunkmeyer, who was observing the conversation. "I'll start packing after breakfast."

With few personal belongings, it didn't take Hicks long to pack his bags and set them on the bed, ready to grab when he and Ripley and Newt had to leave for the airport. He changed into his PT clothes before joining the rest of the unit in the gym, but found it hard to focus on his workout. Hudson and Wierzbowski had returned from their ladies and were exercising alongside the others, talking and laughing with them. He knew he'd only be gone for a week or so, but he was going to miss them all.

Hicks watched Gorman taking part with the others, joining Drake in doing upside-down crunches. It had basically become a contest to see who could do more.

"I thought you hated being upside down, man," Hudson said.

"If I know how to get myself out of it, it's fine," Drake replied.

"Quit talking and more crunching, dude," Frost said. "Gorman just surpassed your count."

"Yeah, but he won't beat my record."

"Oh, and what's your record?"

"One-twenty."

"One hundred twenty crunches and you still have nothing for abs? I wouldn't be surprised if Gorman beat your record a long time ago."

Drake snorted. "He's an officer. Officers don't-"

Without a word, Gorman untucked his shirt and lifted it to reveal he was in significantly better shape than most of the crew. "I was enlisted before getting my commission. By the way, my record for crunches on the ground stands at two-thirty."

Drake was red with embarrassment, but kept his mouth shut as he tried to push himself. Sweat was running down his face and veins were beginning to show on his neck and forehead.

"Come on, man, you can do it," Hudson said. "I'll do it with you!"

"Hudson, no!" Hicks growled.

"Why not?" Hudson climbed up on one of the bars. "I can do it!"

"You'll hurt yourself."

"I can do it, man!" Hudson hopped up to try and wrap his legs around the bar, but instead slipped while climbing, and his shoulder was wedged between the bars, his right arm dangling in the air. "Uh . . . shit, man."

Hicks rubbed his face before looking at Gorman. "Sir, I'm so sorry you had to witness that."

"That was nothing compared to some of the other shit Hudson's done," Dietrich said, standing up. "'Ski, go get some butter from the kitchen."

"We could write ten books about the things Hudson's done," Frost added. "Should we tell him about the time Hudson went skinny-dipping in the pool-"

"No! No, no, no! No one wants to hear that story!" Drake yelled. "Kept me out of the fucking pool until we left Singapore."

"I wasn't trying to go skinny-dipping, man, my swim trunks fell off," Hudson said.

"Honestly, the time I saw Spunkmeyer naked when we were at the moon facility was more terrifying," Vasquez replied.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have been so close to the Goddamn showers when I was in there!" Spunkmeyer yelled.

"Maybe you should've put some clothes on before leaving!"

Apone was shaking his head, then looked at his watch. "Hicks, you might wanna start heading out soon."

Getting off the bench, Hicks looked at Hudson, who was having his shoulder covered in butter from Wierzbowski and Dietrich in an attempt to free him. Drake was still trying to do as many crunches as he could. Everyone else was talking and laughing.

Hicks's mind had turned to the early, early morning he got up for his long flight to Paris for that Christmas brunch he was supposed to attend with Paulson. On that morning, he had been glad to be away from his unit because of all the dysfunction. Now, he didn't want to leave. _I guess deep down I'm afraid of something happening while I'm gone. I'm afraid of someone needing me and I won't be here to help. _Hicks swallowed past a lump in his throat. He knew he had to go, but instead of leaving, he walked toward the group. "I'll be gone about a week, guys," he announced.

"Where're you going, man?" Hudson asked.

"Home."

"Don't miss us too much," Drake said.

"All I ask is that everyone behaves. I don't want to hear about someone getting hurt-" Hicks looked toward Hudson, "or stuck in things."

"Don't worry about me, man," Hudson moaned, trying to pull his arm out from between the bars.

"I don't want to, but I will anyway." Hicks turned to leave. "I'll be back before you know it."

* * *

_Question: How would Hicks's reactions to certain things be different if this had taken place immediately after "White Noise?"_


	2. Chapter 2

It would be ten more minutes before the bus arrived to take Hicks, Ripley, and Newt to the airport. Hicks paced the front of the base with a cigarette in his mouth. He realized he hadn't told Ripley anything about his past. _I'm going to have to do that,_ he thought. _I have no choice._

Before he could become enveloped in his thoughts, he turned when he heard the gates open, and Spunkmeyer and Gorman walked over to them. "He came to say goodbye," Gorman said, gesturing to Spunkmeyer.

Ripley let go of Newt's hand so the girl could run up to Spunkmeyer. Hicks continued to pace, avoiding eye contact with Gorman so he didn't relive the wake and funeral again. _The next few days aren't going to be good. I can feel it._

"Hicks?"

Turning to face Gorman, Hicks pulled his cigarette out of his mouth. "Yes, sir?"

"Everything OK?"

If they were alone, Hicks would have been honest, but he wasn't ready to announce his problems in front of Ripley yet. "Yeah. I'm fine." _You are likely going to be serving with this man until one of you gets promoted. You need to establish a personal relationship. You will not have a functional unit if you can't communicate with your own CO!_

Hicks looked down, and kept pacing. He pitched his cigarette away, and searched his pockets for the pack to light another. _Functional . . . That's why I wanted to leave my first unit. It wasn't functional. I'm going to be the reason this unit turns dysfunctional! I can't do this! No . . . you'll tell him when you come back, because Ripley won't be with you._

A quiet, yet nagging voice in his head said, "_Functional units don't have personal relationships. Emotions are a barrier to success. If he tries to be friendly with you, you should report him for fraternization. Your whole unit is a mess already._"

It had been a long time since Hicks heard that voice. With it came that horrific desire for perfection, and the only way to achieve perfection was through strict discipline. A corporal can't discipline a lieutenant. A corporal can report his lieutenant, though.

Hicks kept looking down. _Don't give in. That's how problems start._

And yet, he lied. "I'm fine, sir."

It was a bad lie. Anyone could see he wasn't fine, and Hicks knew that. He felt like he was bleeding profusely, and everyone could see it, but he was telling them he wasn't.

As the bus pulled up to the gate, Hicks picked up his duffel bag. Spunkmeyer set down Newt. He stepped back next to Gorman, watching the three board the bus. Once the doors closed, Spunkmeyer looked at Gorman. "I don't think Hicks is OK."

"He knows it. And he knew he was lying," Gorman said.

Spunkmeyer took a breath. "It's fucking scary when he breaks down."

* * *

There wasn't a lot of conversation between Hicks and Ripley during the flight. Hicks tried to think about something else, but he couldn't decide what. There was some small talk, but it didn't last long.

It would be early evening when they landed in Alabama. Newt was already fast asleep, and Hicks tried to carry her and most of their luggage out of the airport. His thoughts were still all over the place, but it was fading to echoes. Unlike a real echo, it didn't disappear with time. It continued in the back of his mind.

"Hicks, I'll carry some of those," Ripley said, taking her bag and Newt's from Hicks. "Is it a long drive from here to your place?"

"Shouldn't be," Hicks replied. "As long as nobody touched my truck."

Hicks breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his old friend in the long-term lot of the airport. He greatly appreciated the familiar sight and scent of his truck as he unlocked the doors and put Newt and the luggage in the back seat. The smell of cigarette smoke and fried food he had consumed in a hurry on the way to work or pre-boot camp meetings. The carpet was covered in stains and he still hadn't taken that bag of shotgun shells out. He still loved it. It had seen him through many moments in his life, good and bad.

"How long have you had this thing?" Ripley asked, a slight smile tugging at the edges of her lips.

"Since I was sixteen," Hicks replied.

"You beat it up pretty good."

"Not really. I bought her used. Came like this. Only a couple of the scuffs are from me. I've done my best to keep her working. Never thought about getting a new vehicle. Working on this one actually helps me keep my mind . . . intact. I'll keep going until they stop making the parts and there are no reproduction outlets left in the state." Hicks got in the driver's seat. "I'll throw something together for a quick dinner at home. Feel free to shower and get freshened up. Don't worry about a thing, because I'll take care of everything."

The sun was just starting to go down as Hicks pulled into the driveway of his house at the end of a wooded street. He was glad to step into the thick, humid air. He enjoyed it for a second or two before grabbing the luggage and walking up onto the porch to unlock the door. "Make yourself at home," he said. "I'll show you the guest room."

"You definitely have a fondness for antiquities, Hicks," Ripley replied, looking at the old house while heading up the porch.

"You're not the first person who's said that," Hicks said with a laugh. He closed the door behind Ripley, who set Newt on the couch. "OK, would you like to eat first, or should I give you the tour?"

"As long as you're not making cornbread."

"Oh, I have a recipe for cornbread, but it's nothing like the shit on the _Sulaco_. This is the best cornbread you've ever had, but, I don't have time to do it tonight. I'll do something a little simpler." Hicks carried his stuff up to his bedroom, dropping his bag on the bed. He changed into more comfortable clothes before going back downstairs, finding Ripley sitting at the small table in the kitchen. Hicks sighed a little before sitting across from her. "I guess now's a better time to talk, now that Newt's in another room."

Ripley nodded. "I really hope I'm not intruding on your life, Hicks. You seem dedicated to your soldiers."

"I am, but I don't take a lot of personal days, and . . . I wanted to help you out. Believe me, I can't even begin to imagine how you felt when you realized . . . your whole life was gone. I do understand, though, and . . . that's why."

"I'm still a stranger to you, and you to me."

"Everyone starts out as strangers. I'm hoping we won't be anymore. I guess . . . I want your reintroduction to the world to be a good one."

"You mentioned that back on the _Sulaco_."

"I did." Hicks stood up. "Look, I'm a really good cook-my grandmother made sure of that-but all I'm doing is canned soup tonight, if that's OK."

"Anything is better than spaceship food right now."

"Can't disagree with you there." Hicks opened one of the cabinets, pulling down a can of soup, and a small pot.

The silence that followed was a tad awkward, and it allowed Hicks's thoughts to wander again. He wanted to keep his creeping maniacal thoughts under control. He knew his thoughts on reporting Gorman weren't good, and weren't how he actually felt. _Knowing and understanding that these thoughts aren't good is a step in the right direction. Keeping them under control and not acting on them is another._

* * *

Hicks decided he'd give Ripley the tour of his home tomorrow. They were all tired, and it would take some time to recover from the jet lag and adjust to day-night cycles again. He let Ripley and Newt freshen up for bed first, and waited until both were settled in before showering himself. Ripley was in the guest room and Newt was on the couch, curled up under all the blankets from the trunk next to the lamp.

Though he was tired, Hicks didn't feel like he would drop off as soon as his head hit the pillow. His mind was still active, though his body wanted to slow down. He quietly went into the kitchen to make a cup of hot chocolate, and the phone rang. Setting the milk on the counter, he sighed before picking up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey, Hicks, how's everything going?" Gorman asked.

Hicks thought for a moment. "Fine . . . Why do you ask?"

"You seemed like something was bothering you when you left. I just wanted to know if everything was OK."

"I'll feel better when I get some real sleep, sir. It's almost quarter after ten here."

"I'll call you back in the morning."

"D-Don't bother, please? I'm fine. Just tired. There's more important things to worry about, sir." _I'm not one of them._

There was silence for a heartbeat or two, then Gorman said, "I'll still call in the morning. Have a good night, Hicks."

Hanging up the phone, Hicks rubbed his face. _I'm not ready. I'm not ready to talk to him, or Ripley. The question is, will I ever be ready?_

He went upstairs after finishing the hot chocolate. There was silence aside from the wildlife outside-the birds and the tree frogs. He sat by the window, giving a soft sigh. _I shouldn't be getting mad at anyone for asking if I'm OK._

It was a defense mechanism he hadn't activated in years. Laying in bed, Hicks knew that it wasn't a good thing. It had led to so many problems, branching into so many parts of his life. Keeping people out, even those he cared about, hadn't solved a damn thing. It made things worse.

He needed to nip it in the bud, and keep it from getting worse, unlike last time. It destroyed his relationship with Carlisle.

Even though they broke up almost two years ago, Hicks's chest would ache sometimes at the thought of Paige Carlisle. She had been sweet to him. She tried her best to keep him from sinking, but she ultimately gave up when, after several years, Hicks couldn't escape the tight claws of his past. If he was considering a successful relationship with Ripley, he needed to move further and further away from his past.

Eventually, Hicks fell into a dreamless sleep. He awoke at around seven-thirty, and took his time with getting dressed. Knowing that Ripley and Newt could still be asleep, he was quiet in heading downstairs. Frankly, he was glad they were still sleeping, because they needed it.

There were no coffee grounds in the refrigerator, so Hicks decided to go out and grab some fresh coffee for himself and Ripley, and get some groceries to last a few days. He left a note on the kitchen table, then grabbed his keys and silently left the house.

A small sense of joy came over him as he got into his truck by himself. It had been a long time since he'd driven it alone. It was a place where he was in control, and that comforted him. He pulled out of the driveway, realizing just how happy he was to be home.

It was still early, so traffic wasn't bad when he reached downtown Mobile. Hicks parked in the lot of a café, and patted the side of his truck as he got out. He was grateful for how quiet the café was when he walked in, and then noticed a familiar face sitting at one of the tables. "Vince?"

Vince Paulson stood up almost as soon as Hicks said his name, and walked over with his arms outstretched. "Dwayne! How're you doing?" He gave Hicks a bone-crushing hug.

"I'm doing-ow-fine," Hicks said, feeling his breath escape his lungs when Vince squeezed him. "How are you?"

"I'm doing great! Drake told me you were gonna be staying home for a few days, and I thought, 'Hey, I'm in the area, may as well see you.' I was gonna drop by a little later, but you're here now." Vince shrugged. "I'll get you some coffee, if you want."

"Um, thanks." Hicks sat at the table, taking a breath. When Vince returned with the coffee, Hicks made eye contact with Vince. "Can I . . . talk to you about something, and can you keep it between us?"

Vince made a locking motion near his mouth, and an "X" over his chest. "Absolutely. Anything you wanna talk about."

"Well, I'm going to bring up your father again, so just prepare yourself, mentally." Hicks took a sip of his coffee. "Do you remember a cousin named Lydia?"

Thinking hard, Vince rubbed his chin. "Lydia . . . Joslin . . . No, no, it's not Joslin anymore. It's Gorman. I think her husband's name is Scott. Yeah, it is. I met him Thanksgiving of the year they met. Really nice guy, but kinda awkward in social situations."

"He's an officer now, and he's commanding my unit. We got him just before our last mission."

"Really?"

Hicks nodded. "I thought he was familiar, and . . . it turns out I have seen him before. I saw him at your dad's wake and funeral."

"Well that's a one-in-a-million thing, isn't it?"

"It's . . . bothering me. Not the fact that he was at the funeral, but because . . . I've been working hard to pull myself out of the past, and . . . it feels like this is dragging me backwards. Before getting on my flight, I started having what I've come to call my 'maniacal thoughts,' where I think everything needs to be by the book and perfect and I'm the only one who can fix it by getting angry at people. I didn't act on those thoughts. I've been a lot better at keeping them under control, but I'm hoping them coming up again doesn't . . . mean anything."

Vince shrugged. "I don't think it means much of anything, really. This is something you're stuck with. Those thoughts are bound to happen. Not acting on them is the important thing."

Hicks nodded. "You have a point."

"And you got a lot more people to help you now than you did when Dad died."

"How do I tell Gorman about this?"

"Is your bipolar on your medical sheets?"

"Yeah."

"Chances are, he already knows. He knew long before he saw you in person. The only thing he doesn't know is how it's been effecting you."

"How do I open up to him about it, and should I?"

"You really should tell him. It's no more or less important than your physical health. If you broke your leg, surely you'd tell him about that, right?"

"Yeah, but it's-"

"It's not different. It's still important. He's your commanding officer. He has to know."

"You don't think it'd be fraternization?"

Vince gave Hicks a look. "You do realize that a lot of people would consider your friendship with my dad to be fraternization, right? You're enlisted, he's an officer of one of the highest ranks. He did his best to not look like he favored you, but he did do some things for you that most would think twice about and go, 'Isn't that illegal?' You talking to a lieutenant won't be as bad, nor do I think people will care."

Hicks sighed. "I guess you have a point."

"Of course I do. If you succumb to the mania part of your disorder, Gorman needs to know what to do to get you to listen and calm down. Does your medtech know what to do?"

"No."

"Your sergeant?"

"Yes."

"If he knows, then your lieutenant has to know. It's not something that can be debated, because you shouldn't be gambling with your mental health anymore than you would your physical." Vince took a sip of his coffee. "Anything else you wanna talk about?"

Though he struggled to put his thoughts together, Hicks explained his situation with Ripley and Newt, and, much to his surprise, Vince didn't seem confused.

"Let's be real with this, Dwayne, you and this woman who spent close to six decades in cryosleep do not have a relationship. You don't even have a friendship yet. You keep hiding, and it sounds like she's not opening up to you, either. Are you desperate for a romantic relationship?"

Hicks shook his head.

"Then don't push it. Don't even talk about it. Just do what you said and help her and this little girl find a place to stay. That's all you should be doing. Let everything else come at its own pace, and it sounds like it's going to be slow." Vince looked down at his mug. "You never struck me as the romantic type anyway, Dwayne."

"I don't even think that's what I feel. We respect each other, and that's it. Honestly, I've never had the easiest time gauging my emotions anyway."

"I think . . . you should talk to Drake. Maybe he's got a trick up his sleeve for you. Oh, I almost forgot-I got something for you. I was out in the Gulf for a couple days on a shrimp boat, so they gave me some of their catch. I saved a little for you. Figured it'd make a good 'welcome home for a few days' present."

"Is it stinking up your car?"

"It's in a cooler. Look, I learned my lesson from that one time I just left fish in a grocery bag in the back seat of my car." Vince blushed, looking at the table. "That was not a good day. I think I was getting over the flu then and my mind was still a little shot."

"At least you leaned your lesson, because I don't need the smell in my truck."

When they finished their coffee, Hicks followed Vince out to his car to get the cooler of shrimp. The morning fog had lifted, as did Hicks's spirits. He was glad he had someone to talk to now. "How long are you staying in Mobile?"

Vince paused to think. "I actually wasn't planning on staying. Then I got talking with Drake a few nights ago, and he said you were gonna be here, so I'll extend my hotel days. You sound like you need a friend anyway."

"I don't want to take time away from your work."

"Right now, I'm not working. Just waiting for someone to call me because their boat's radar broke."

"If you say so." Hicks set the cooler on the back seat. "I have to go get food to last the week. Come by for dinner, and we'll talk more."

* * *

_Question: Should Hicks have been made to stay behind for observation?_


	3. Chapter 3

Hicks walked back into the house carrying bags of groceries and a cup of coffee. Ripley was sitting in the kitchen, and looked up as soon as Hicks came in. "What took you so long?"

"Talking with a friend. I'm sorry." Hicks slid the coffee in front of her. "He's coming over for dinner. You don't mind, do you?"

"It's your house."

Hicks set the bags on the table, and began putting items away in the fridge and cabinets. "Vince is a good guy. I promise, he won't make things awkward."

"Is he another Marine?" Ripley stood up, taking some of the groceries to put them away.

"No. His . . . dad was." Hicks paused, realized he had just dug himself into a hole.

"Are you OK?"

_Shit, what've I done?_ "Yeah, it's . . . well . . ." Hicks took a breath. "His father was my mentor, and . . . eight years ago, he committed suicide."

"I'm sorry."

Hicks looked down at the counter. "It . . . took me a long time to get over it. I mean, I don't like thinking about it. It was sudden and . . . I blamed myself, which led to all sorts of problems." He would have to tell the whole story now. As he tried to think of the best way to do so, the phone rang. Releasing his breath, Hicks picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hey, Hicks," Gorman said. "I meant to call earlier, but I got caught up in something."

"Call about what?"

"Just to check up on you."

Hicks sighed. "Well, sir, I . . . feel better now that I've slept, had some real coffee, and talked to a friend. There's nothing for you to worry about." He looked at Ripley. "Can I be alone, please? I'm so sorry." Once Ripley had left the room, Hicks gave a heavy sigh, remembering what Vince had told him about how being open with his commanding officer was important. He took a moment to compose his thoughts.

"You still there?" Gorman asked.

"Yeah. I . . . I'm sorry. I should've been more open with you last night, and before I left. I really wasn't . . . OK when I was getting to ready. I let my thoughts kinda get the best of me. The thoughts that let me know . . . I'm heading toward a maniacal breakdown. I . . . I-I hope you don't think that you brought on these thoughts just because you had some tiny involvement with a horrible event of my past. You didn't. It's all me, latching on to things I should've let go of years ago."

"I kinda figured you wouldn't respond well, emotionally, to talking about Paulson's wake and funeral," Gorman replied.

"I asked, and I shouldn't have."

"I think things would be a lot worse if you hadn't brought it up with me. It would've festered and you probably would've exploded on the civvie woman and the little girl, and that wouldn't have been pretty, especially since . . . I don't think you told them."

"I told Ripley the bare minimum."

"You might want to give her more than the bare minimum. That way she has some idea of what's going on in case something happens."

"I guess that makes sense," Hicks sighed. "I'll . . . do my best to tell her."

"OK. The rest of the squad has been missing you, and worried about you."

A small smirk tugged at the edges of Hicks's mouth. "Are they behaving? Let them know I miss them all, too."

"In terms of behaving, uh . . . well . . . Hudson . . . Hudson has been a handful."

"Big surprise. He's generally harmless, so don't bother writing him up. What'd he do this time?"

"He got his arm stuck in the vending machine when he was trying to get a bag of peanut butter cookies out. The morning after, he wanted me to take everyone out to breakfast because I'm a lieutenant and can 'eat wherever I want.'"

"Did you give in?"

"No."

"Good. You passed your first test as the new guy." Hicks grinned. "No one's gotten hurt?"

"No. It took some powerloader lubricant to get Hudson's arm out of the vending machine, but he wasn't hurt."

"As long as no one's hurt. That's all I care about. Anything else new?"

"Not at the moment. I'd let you know if there was."

"Thanks." Hicks felt like a weight had lifted from his shoulders. "I also want to thank you for listening, sir."

"No problem."

"And, for the record, sir . . . I do feel a lot better."

"That's good." There was silence for a moment, before Gorman spoke again. "I'll let you go, now, Hicks. But, I'll call you again in the morning, just to follow up. Take of yourself, OK?"

"Yes, sir." Hicks held onto the phone, even after Gorman had hung up. He looked down at the floor, giving a quiet sigh before putting the phone back on its hook. He turned, seeing Ripley leaning against the doorway.

Her expression wasn't very clear at first. "What in the world makes you think I wouldn't be to understand you?"

"It has nothing to do with you personally," Hicks replied. "I've always had a hard time explaining myself to people. Hasn't gotten easier with time. I'm sorry if it came out the wrong way to you."

"Try me. Go ahead. Tell me what's going on with you."

Instinctively, Hicks searched for something to keep his hands busy. He'd left his cigarettes upstairs. Glancing into the living room, he spotted his scarf-the same one Carlisle had bought him in Paris years ago-and walked over to get it from its hook by the door. He looked down as he put it around his neck, and started gently playing with the tassels. "Sorry. I'm cold."

"This is southern Alabama in the middle of summer."

Hicks swallowed nervously, tightening his grip on the end of the scarf. "I'm sorry."

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Apologizing. For no reason."

"Sorry."

Ripley sighed. "Alright. Tell me what's wrong with you."

Hicks gathered up his thoughts. The more he thought, the more he stroked the tassels of the scarf. "I . . . deal with bipolar depression. No one really knows how I got it, but I've always felt that it was sparked by Paulson's suicide. I learned pretty much everything from him, and him . . . ending it all came as a shock. I blamed myself for it. I felt like I had failed, and that's why he hung himself. I didn't know what to do anymore. That . . . mixed with the fact that the squad I was in was highly dysfunctional . . . was a recipe for disaster. I started feeling like the only way to fix things was to get mean, and angry, and . . . that wasn't right, but it's what happened. I was easily enraged, and I physically disciplined people for stupid things. Then the mania just stops, and I become depressed. If . . . If I ever . . . get angry over something little and say things I shouldn't . . . just know that I don't mean it, and . . . if you can . . . just take Newt out of the house. I'm not anticipating a breakdown anytime soon, but . . . just in case, that's what I want you to do. Just leave me alone and let me burn it off on my own."

Ripley took a moment to think, all the while trying to look Hicks in the eye. "Thank you for telling me."

Hicks nodded, still looking down at the scarf. "Gorman's orders."

"Do you trust him?"

"Who? Gorman? Yeah."

"Even though he was just assigned to you?"

"I was cautious at first. He pulled us through this last mission, so I have no reason to not trust him." Hicks glanced at Ripley. "I also trust Vince, and he told me he feels like Gorman's a good guy. They are cousins by marriage, after all. Speaking of Vince, I should get to work on making something for when he comes over." He finally locked eyes with Ripley, and offered her a small smile, but he couldn't find anything else to say.

* * *

Hicks had just taken the last of the hamburgers and sausage links off the grill when the doorbell rang. He jogged back into the house, opening the door for Vince. "Come on in, I just got everything set up," Hicks said, patting Vince's shoulder as he walked in.

"Great. I'm just in time," Vince replied, hanging up his cap. He noticed Newt sitting on the couch, brushing the hair of a doll. "Hey, there."

Newt looked at him. She gave Vince a very weak smile, and a small wave.

"Head out to the back porch, sweetie," Hicks said.

"Wait, wait, wait, I gotta show her something." Vince knelt in front of Newt. "I think you got something in your . . ." He pulled a quarter from behind her ear. "How'd that get there?" He gave her a big smile. "Weird, eh?"

Newt didn't give him much of a reaction.

"Vince, don't," Hicks sighed. "Go outside." He gestured for Newt to come with them. Once they were seated at a small table near the pool, Hicks began serving everyone. "OK. Ripley, this is my friend, Vince. Vince, this is Ellen Ripley, the civvie advisor from our last mission."

Vince held out his hand to Ripley. "Nice to meet you, ma'am."

Hicks handed a beer can to Vince, then sat down with a glass of iced raspberry tea.

"Hicks was telling me you're his mentor's son. I'm a little surprised you're not a Marine yourself," Ripley said, looking at Vince.

"Oh. That's a long story. Kinda." Vince cracked open the beer can. "I've been around the Marines my whole life, but my dad wanted me to do what I wanted to do. I ended up going to tech school to learn how to play with radar systems, and now fishing companies can hire me in case something breaks down on one of their ships. I usually go out with a ship. Most of the time, they don't need me and I spend the whole time below deck talking with the crew. They like me, and they give me some of their catch. I've been given fish, crab, shrimp, lobster, clams, you name it. Hell, I just gave Dwayne some shrimp this morning."

"If I had more time, I would've made up my homemade barbeque sauce to grill them with," Hicks added. "That, and I didn't feel like it."

Vince laughed. "You're on vacation. Be lazy." He looked at Ripley, a big grin on his face. "Dwayne really is a good cook."

"He told me last night," Ripley replied. "He just hasn't proved it yet."

Vince almost spit out his drink, snorting. "Dwayne? Y-You haven't made your top-secret fried chicken recipe for your guests? She just got outta fifty-seven years of hypersleep and you don't have the decency to do a real meal? Where's the Southern gentleman Dad introduced me to ten years ago?"

"I will get to it. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after." Hicks rolled his eyes, grinning.

There wasn't much conversation after that. Eventually, though, the topic turned to Gorman, and Vince had a few stories to tell.

"Mom was hosting Thanksgiving dinner the year I met Scott. I think I was the only person with my father's blood there, which kinda sucked because I always got along better with his side of the family than Mom's. My cousin, Lydia, is a bit of an exception. She's sweet to everyone, doesn't want anyone to be lonely. She saw me sitting by myself in the parlor, and brings her boyfriend over. Now, she's had boyfriends in the past, and nothing worked out for one reason or another, so it shocked me when she brings in a Marine-well, in civvie clothes, because he was on break-and says, 'Vince, this is Scott Gorman. I thought you two could talk because you both have connections with the Marines.'

"I shrugged and rolled with it. This was two years after Dad died, so I wasn't . . . I wasn't really sure I wanted to bring it up. That was all that kept running through my head till I see Scott's just sitting across from me, not saying a Goddamn thing. Five minutes of silence pass, and then he says to me, 'I love her, but I didn't want to come.'

"I said, 'I can understand that.' He's just shy, especially in a non-military setting, but he was glad to talk to somebody who understood where he was coming from and what the Marines are like, even though I wasn't a Marine. At one point, he did bring up Dad, and said, 'My CO was good friends with him. I'm really sorry about what happened.' And I was OK with that. He wasn't . . . asking a lot of questions. He seemed to get that this was still really raw for me, and didn't prod me about it.

"We got along well, and I was glad to be sitting next to him at dinner, because we could keep talking, quietly, while some of my other relatives talked about their . . . medical issues. Look, I hate it when people talk about their doctor visits and surgeries and illnesses at the dinner table. It's disgusting. So, the whole time, Scott's leaning over to me and telling me about being stationed in Taiwan, and for the first time in a long time, I felt . . . less alone. The year before, I really didn't acknowledge any holidays. I was just glad to have someone to talk to. And we kept talking after dinner. We took our pumpkin pie and went back to the parlor to keep on chatting up until Lydia came in and said she was ready to leave. When they left, I decided to leave, too, and dammit, I wish I got his number so we could meet up for a beer someday. That was it. I don't even know if he remembers me, but I do know he and Lydia got married, because Mom told me."

"You weren't invited to the wedding?" Hicks asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope. I guess they forgot about me." Vince gave a sad smile.

"That's awful," Ripley said.

"No. I just would've been uncomfortable the whole time. Not like Scott and I would've gotten the chance to talk anyway."

"Well, I can talk to him and have you guys meet up or something." Hicks shrugged. "If you want."

"Thanks, but . . . I'll think about it. So far, Drake has been . . . I dunno, more consistent, I guess. He hasn't forgotten me yet."

"He's also helped you with your self-esteem," Hicks said. "How's that been working out?"

"I still beat myself up now and then, but it's not as bad as it used to be," Vince replied. He finished the remainder of his beer. "Did you talk to Drake about . . ." he glanced at Ripley, "what I mentioned earlier at the diner?"

"No. Haven't had the chance," Hicks sighed. "I still feel tired and jet-lagged. It's only been one day."

"Take your time, then. I . . . hate to ask, but did you do anything for dessert?"

Hicks gave a heavier sigh as he stood up. "You know, I wasn't missing Hudson until you said that. I don't have anything, but I'll go get some ice cream bars from the convenience store down the street."

"You don't have to do that, Dwayne-"

"I kinda want to take a walk anyway." Hicks pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, lighting it as he headed out to the street. He regretted saying that to Vince, but it was the truth; he needed a moment to breathe and think.

The sky had turned a dark orange-pink as he turned onto the next street. He let himself gaze at the shops lined along the road. Nothing much had changed in the years he was gone, although some new places had opened up that he had never seen before. He'd check them out when he had the chance. Right now, he had no motivation to do so.

He continued walking down to where the road split into a few more lanes, where the busier downtown area lay. Hicks stared down the gentle sloping road, seeing the almost empty parking lot of a mall diagonally from where he stood. The lights in the lot had turned on. He remembered coming to this same mall years ago. It was his way of spending every homecoming, prom, senior ball. He'd treat himself to a hot sandwich, fries, and a rich, creamy milkshake from one of the restaurants in the mall, then bring it out and sit in the back of his truck while watching the sunset and the lights of Mobile flicker on. Little things like that made him feel good, like he was alive. _Where had those days gone?_

He could pinpoint the exact parking spot he chose every single time from where he stood, and he dug back into his mind, searching for those happy memories. They were there, but they didn't bring happiness. It seemed time and his illness had tainted them with a thick layer of sadness. They brought on an aching sensation in his chest. When he couldn't stand that feeling anymore, he pitched his spent cigarette away, and headed back home with his head down.

* * *

Hicks walked back into his home to see Vince still trying to make friends with Newt, and it seemed like she was playing along. He also wondered if she was starting to see Vince as a possible substitute for Spunkmeyer.

Ripley was in the kitchen, poring over the classified section of a newspaper. She glanced up at Hicks. "What's the nearest spaceport to here?"

"Kennedy, in Florida," Hicks replied, filling a tea kettle with water before setting it on the stove. "Why do you ask?"

"I really don't want to throw away what I had before, my engineering degree and flight experience." A frustrated look came over her. "I can't do to Newt what I did to Amanda. It . . . I . . . It seems so unlikely, and yet I'm afraid of it happening again-getting so hopelessly lost that I drift in cryo for almost sixty years, and I never get to see anyone I know again. Or I have to face those _things_ again."

Hicks thought for a moment. "Well, if I'm remembering your report correctly, your crew landed on LV-426 because it was in your contract, despite you just being a space-tug for a refinery, that you had to investigate an alien signal, no ifs ands or buts about it."

"That's correct."

"I don't think that's in any contracts anymore unless you're a science team or something like that. However, if you really want to minimize chances of running into any shit, plus get good time off to be with Newt, maybe . . . try being an attendant on a luxury cruiser. Not like the lady who serves the champagne, but you work with the flight and maintenance crew. Typically the flights are between Gateway and LV-510. The most you might have to worry about is space pirates, but if you call, the Marines will be there to take care of it." Hicks offered a small smile. "I know it doesn't sound . . . terribly exciting, but you wouldn't have to worry about hostile aliens, losing Newt, or getting stuck in cryo, and you'd still put everything you had in the past to good use."

Now Ripley was silent. "Who would I talk to about this? I mean, what do I have to lose?"

"I think there's a job office in Mobile. I dunno. It might require a trip to Florida." Hicks placed a teabag in a cup before pouring hot water over it. "Give it a shot." He gestured to the box of tea. "Want some?"

"Sure." Ripley looked toward the door leading to the living room. "You left Vince alone with Newt?"

"Vince is a fucking teddy bear." Hicks grinned. "He's fine."

The two peered into the living room, seeing Vince sitting with Newt and a large atlas in his lap, showing her some of the places he'd been. Newt had her head rested on Vince's chest.

Hicks looked at Ripley. "We should leave them alone. They're getting along great."

* * *

_Question: What could have happened if Hicks refused to tell Ripley about his past?_


	4. Chapter 4

Hicks opened some windows to let the sounds of wildlife and a cool night breeze into the house. He placed a freshly poured cup of tea in front of Ripley before sitting across from her at the kitchen table. She was still staring at the newspaper, and then let out her breath before making eye contact with Hicks.

"I think I should do it."

"Do what?" Hicks asked.

"Ask about . . . joining a luxury cruiser."

"It's a step in the right direction," Hicks replied. "You know I can't go with you if you have to go to Florida."

"I didn't think you would be coming with me."

"Who's gonna watch Newt? I can't go unless I get my pass changed, that way I don't get listed as AWOL. There's a certain radius I can't leave, and Florida is past it."

"Hicks, I really appreciate you trying to help, but if I go to Florida, I won't need it anymore."

"You have no money. Listen, I know you want to be independent again, but . . . right now, you need help. Do you trust me? Just . . . let's see what happens when you talk to the career office."

After finishing his tea, Hicks stood up to quietly peer into the living room. Newt was still with Vince, fast asleep, and it looked like Vince was asleep as well. Smiling to himself, Hicks walked in to tap his friend on the shoulder. "Hey, Vince, you gotta get back to your hotel, bud."

Vince slowly woke up, looking at Hicks. "I had a lot to drink, Dwayne, I shouldn't be driving."

"Did you bring a change of clothes?"

"No. That's all at the hotel." Vince glanced down at Newt, then back up at Hicks. "I think she likes me."

"Good. I'll go get some blankets for you. Want the AC on?"

"Sure." Vince stretched and lay down after Hicks picked up the sleeping Newt.

"We'll put you in the recliner tonight, sweetie," Hicks whispered. Before he could set her down in the chair, he felt her wrap her arms around his neck.

"His daddy's gone, too," Newt said.

Hicks paused. As awful as it sounded, that was definitely something Newt and Vince had in common. "I know," he sighed. "I was friends with his dad."

"Hicks?"

"Yeah?"

"How long am I staying here?"

"Well, you might be going to Florida with Ripley. Could be a few more days. Did they ever teach you about Earth in the colony?"

"A little bit."

Hicks took a moment to think.

"What's Florida like?"

"It's very warm and sunny. Every day is around ninety degrees, very humid, and there are thunderstorms in the afternoon. They usually don't last long. There are pretty beaches and amusement parks. Plenty of wildlife, too, much of which you should never ever touch. There's gators and big snakes and bugs. If it has scales, don't touch it."

Newt didn't seemed fazed. "Probably not as bad as the monster."

Hicks nodded. "Definitely not as bad. Have you been having dreams about it?"

She nodded a little.

"Bad dreams?"

Another nod.

Hicks paused to think. "You know, the monsters have bad dreams, too. Wanna know what they dream about?"

"What?"

"They dream about Marines coming to get them."

That got Newt to smile, which in turn made Hicks smile. He pulled a blanket up to her chin. "Try to dream about that, OK?" he whispered. He then dropped a blanket on Vince. "You, dream about not having a hangover in the morning."

"I'll try," Vince yawned.

* * *

Everyone else was still asleep when Hicks awoke the next morning. He turned off the air conditioner and started a pot of coffee, opening some windows and enjoying the morning air. It was pleasantly warm and sunny, and he figured he'd get started on making breakfast for everyone.

As he cracked eggs over a pan and heated up the leftover sausage from last night, Hicks pondered a strange dream he had. It seemed like a very mundane dream at first; he was getting up and making breakfast, like he was doing now, but he was alone in the house. It was dead silent. There was no calming ambience of birdsong and tree frogs and the creek running not too far from the end of the street. Every little sound Hicks made seem amplified.

He jumped when he heard someone walk into the kitchen. His dream self was as shocked as his awake self would be if he saw his old friend and mentor enter the room. It came as a great joy to see Paulson again, even if it was just a dream.

It was a dream, right?

Hicks stepped forward, holding out his hand. "Sir?"

Paulson took his hand. It was apparent he was a ghost in this dream, as his hand was transparent when he took Hicks's in a firm handshake. Despite that, the shine in his eyes was still there. "Son." He squeezed Hicks's hand before letting go. "I wanted to let you know something. Two things, actually. I should've told you a long time ago . . . just . . . how proud I am. Second, I want your forgiveness. I really am sorry for not physically being there the last few years."

Several heartbeats of silence passed. Hicks swallowed before saying, "I don't think you need to apologize, sir."

"If I had died another way, maybe, but that's not the case. If I had foreseen the pain this caused you, and the tearing apart of my own family, I wouldn't have done it. I blinded myself. For that, for . . . everything . . . I'm sorry."

There was so much Hicks would have said if this was real. In his dream, he remained silent. Eventually, he said, "I forgive you."

"Thank you." Paulson touched Hicks's shoulder. "One last thing, let Drake know I would've been proud of him. This is what I had envisioned when I put together the prison release program."

Hicks nodded. "I'll tell him. Sir-"

He had glanced down for half a second, but when he looked back up, Paulson had vanished.

Vince entering the kitchen disrupted Hicks's thoughts. He poured himself a cup of coffee before sitting at the table, rubbing his face. "I must've lost count of how many cans I had last night," Vince moaned.

"That's OK," Hicks replied. "Feel like you can eat?"

"I'll have . . . a piece of toast."

"Piece of toast it is." Hicks slid a slice of bread in the toast. He thought for a moment, then looked at Vince. "Can I ask you something, since it's just the two of us for now?"

"Sure."

"Did you . . . have any dreams last night?"

Vince stared down at his coffee. "Yeah, actually, I did. I was in my apartment, and . . . Dad was sitting in the kitchen. He said he just got done talking to you, and wanted me to forgive him for abandoning me." He gave Hicks a confused look.

"He did talk to me, in my dream," Hicks replied. "Wanted to let me know he was proud, and if I'd forgive him for not being there for me the last several years."

"I wanna say it was just a weird dream, but . . . that's beyond weird." Vince took a sip of his coffee. "You believe in ghosts?"

"Never been sure."

"Between you and me, I think . . . he was actually giving us a message from beyond the grave. That's just me, though."

Hicks shrugged. "I don't think we'll ever know for sure."

"No, but . . . damn, it was nice to see him again, hear his voice again. Even if it was just a dream."

Hicks nodded, placing the toast in front of Vince. The conversation ended there when Ripley walked into the kitchen, carrying Newt. "Good morning," Hicks said. "How is everyone?"

"Fine," Ripley replied. "You?"

"So far, so good." Hicks placed some eggs on a plate.

"Hicks, do I have permission to use your truck to get to the career office?"

"No, you do not."

Ripley gave him a stern look.

"No one drives my truck except me. Unless it's an emergency. The office is in walking distance."

Vince leaned in to say, "If it makes you feel better, he wouldn't let me drive his truck, either."

"What about you, Vince? Do you let other people drive your vehicle?"

"Yeah. I have to get back to my hotel room, but I can drop you off at that office if you don't want to walk. It's on the way." Vince shrugged. "Not a problem."

"Did you ever get that thing deep-cleaned after your mishap with the fish?" Hicks asked.

"No. Doesn't need it."

"You're numb to it. She's not. Your car still smells."

Vince rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'm sorry, Ripley. Probably wouldn't be a good idea for you to go smelling like dead fish."

"The office is easy to get to," Hicks said. "Walk to the end of the street, take a left. Keep going till you get to a crosswalk leading to the mall. The office is in that mall. Wedged between the ice cream parlor and the Japanese grill."

* * *

After breakfast, Vince grabbed his cap and said his goodbyes to everyone. Before he could head out the door, he felt someone tugging his jeans, and turned to see Newt looking up at him, opening her arms. Vince picked her up. "You behave yourself, OK?" After a long hug, he set her down. "I'll see you again, soon. Keep Dwayne outta trouble."

Ripley left about the same time as Vince, leaving Newt and Hicks alone together. Sighing, Hicks looked at Newt. "Alright, if you need me, I'm going to be cleaning the pool."

A small smile on her face, Newt nodded, then saluted him.

Hicks grinned, and saluted back. As he headed upstairs, the phone started ringing, and he sighed before jogging back down to the kitchen to get it. "Hello?"

"Hey, Hicks," Gorman slurred. "Just called 'cause . . . aw, shit, I forgot."

Hicks could hear music in the background, along with Hudson yelling, "Drake! Is this your ice cream, man?!"

"No, I don't know what it is!" Drake yelled back.

"Sir, have you been drinking?" Hicks asked.

"Ah, yeah. Listen, I gotta tell you somethin'; my burps taste like apple cider, and my vomit is pink because of these cakes Hudson bought. I lost my hat and that is not soup on my boots." Gorman paused to gag.

Hicks bit his tongue. "Sir-"

"Hang on, hang on-"

"_Hi, Hicks!_" Hudson hollered. "We miss you, man!"

"Hudson, you are going to be in a whole lot of trouble when I get back," Hicks growled.

"Who, me? I'm not the one who took the lieutenant's hat, man? Drake's been gnawing on it for the last half-hour, man."

"You went and got Gorman drunk! Do you have any idea what'll happen if other officers get wind of this?"

"I've been getting wind of Hudson all night," Gorman mumbled. "Really doesn't smell too good, here."

"Hey, you don't smell good, either, man!"

"Hicks, you don't have to worry. I have everything under control."

"Sure sounds like it," Hicks sighed. He couldn't think of anything to say that would be useful; Gorman was clearly drunk out of his skull. "Sir, if all I'm going to get is drunken nonsense, I'm hanging up."

"OK, talk to you later, Hicks!"

"Look out below, man!" Hudson shouted.

Hicks was baffled until he heard a loud crashing sound, followed by the dial tone of the phone. For a moment, he wasn't sure how to feel, how to respond. He put his phone back on its hook, giving another heavy sigh. Having gone through this multiple times with Hudson, the anger and frustration just wasn't there, though he was sorely disappointed since Gorman was an officer.

When he went out to clean the pool, Hicks turned on a radio and set a glass of iced tea on the table before sliding into the water with the vacuum. He was glad Ripley was out trying to land herself a job-after all, that was why he took this vacation, but he was also glad that he had some quiet time to himself. It was nice to just get a few things done with no interruptions.

Once the pool was taken care of, Hicks dried off before sitting in a lawnchair with the iced tea he had set out earlier. _Worry about everything and everyone when you get back. _Hicks closed his eyes, letting out his breath.

Who was he kidding? He was definitely worried about everyone. They were his troops. It was his job to worry about them, no questions asked. _Maybe I made a mistake doing this. I know I'm helping someone out, and I know I need time for myself, but my Marines need me. _Rubbing his face and sighing, Hicks looked up at the netting separating his porch from the sky. _I asked for a week, and I got a week. I will stay for the next five days. I can't ask for an alteration to my pass, so if Ripley has to go to Florida, she's taking Newt and I'm staying here. I did my job._

He spent the rest of the morning dozing, and awoke around noon to hear Ripley saying to Newt, "Where's Hicks?"

"Outside," Newt replied.

Hicks got out of the lawnchair, throwing his towel around his shoulders before grabbing his empty glass and walking into the house. "How'd it go?" he asked.

"The job talk? Actually went well," Ripley said. "They . . . do want me to go to Florida to meet with someone about getting a position on a cruiser."

"That's good. When do they want you there?"

"Two days. I have to go back to the office tomorrow to get my itinerary."

Hicks nodded a little. "And you still . . . don't want me coming along."

"No. You did what you could. I'm moving on. Besides, you have a job, you have people who care about you. Ditching them for somebody who's still somewhat of a stranger to you doesn't seem right."

Hicks didn't respond at first. "OK. If that's what you want. I'll drive you to the airport in a couple of days. I'll say 'goodbye,' and then let fate decide if we should see each other again. All I ask in return is a 'thank you.'"

"Your simplicity is charming, Hicks. Well, almost everything about you is charming, and you are so weirdly mysterious."

"You're not the first person to say that." _Paige said it, too._

"Is it something everyone notices?"

"Oh, I think everyone notices. Only a few are bold enough to actually say it. You. And my ex."

"If this was anyone else I was talking about, I wouldn't give another thought to that. But, you're . . . you, and you broke up with someone?"

Hicks shook his head. "No. She broke up with me, because she couldn't handle my baggage. Day-in and day-out, we'd have conversations about how I can't sit in a depressive fog forever, that I need to emerge at some point, that I need to let go of everything that happened. There are some things you just can't let go of. I know she tried to help. I know she genuinely liked me, but she couldn't take it anymore. Who could blame her, to be honest? I was a mess at the time. No one wanted to be stuck with me."

"How long ago was this?"

"About two years."

"You've certainly changed. I haven't found you unbearable at all. And Newt seems to trust you."

"You did seem annoyed when I was constantly apologizing and playing with my scarf."

"I hope you don't mind, but I asked Vince about it when you were gone last night. Said you have a lot of nervous habits."

"Well, he's not wrong." Hicks grinned. "I know I don't seem like a nervous person, but . . . everyone kinda shows their nerves in different ways. We don't all panic like Hudson, who's going to get his ass kicked in when I get back to base."

"Why?"

"When you were gone, I got a phone call from Gorman. Guess what he's doing? He's drunk, and so is Hudson, and Drake. I don't know if it's just the three of them or if there's anyone else in the unit involved, but he was talking nonsense, and Hudson was chirping next to him the whole time. Knowing Hudson . . . I guess he decided to take Gorman out for drinks and it got out of hand. Normally, I don't care, but Gorman's an officer and I don't need USCM command getting pissy with us."

"He doesn't seem like the type to drink."

"No. I don't think he can handle a whole lot of liquor. He may've only had two beers and that was it for him."

Ripley smiled a little. "I don't want to drink myself into a stupor, but it has been fifty-seven years since I had a drink. You know any good bars around here?"

"Actually, yes, and I'd be glad to take you."

"Are you . . . considering this a date?"

Hicks lowered his voice. "Perhaps." He bit his lip. "Do you mind?"

"No, not at all."

Running his fingers through his hair nervously, Hicks looked down at the floor.

"Do you want to not be called a date?"

"No, no, it's . . . it's fine. Just . . . I haven't . . . I dunno . . . Wasn't expecting this, honestly. I'm sorry."

"And there you go again."

"What?"

"Apologizing."

"That was only once, and it was legitimate. Look . . . if we're gonna go somewhere, then I'll see if Vince is available to look after Newt. I don't think either of them will mind spending a few hours together." Hicks tugged at his shirt collar. "You don't need to dress nice. Just go as you are." He sighed when the phone rang. _Better not be a smashed Gorman again._ "Hello?"

"Happy birthday, buddy!" Drake hiccupped. "We completely forgot about your birthday! We're sorry! To celebrate, we ordered some cake! Hudson ate it, though. H-Hey, guys! Let's sing to Hicks! On three!"

"Drake, is everyone OK? There was a lot of crashing when I hung up on you guys." Hicks exchanged a look with Ripley, knowing full well he probably wouldn't get an answer.

"Crashing? Crashing . . . uhh . . . Hudson fell on top of Gorman. There's some blood from his forehead, but he's OK. He's in the bathroom right now. I think. Last I checked, he's puking pink shit in a toilet." Drake started laughing, but it was disrupted by hiccups.

Hicks sighed. "Drake, you all need to go back to base. Can you do that?"

"Maybe . . . I dunno . . . Maaaaayybe."

Hicks hung up, setting the phone back on the counter, and rubbed his face. "I typically don't drink often, but . . . I could use one now."

"Isn't that what they did to get in trouble?" Ripley asked.

"I'm talking about one to relax, not four or five to get smashed."

* * *

_Question: How do you think Hicks's experience with Carlisle has effected his relationship with Ripley?_


	5. Chapter 5

Hicks sat across from Ripley at a small table next to a window in a bar facing the street he lived on. He took a sip of his drink before saying, "It's been, what, two days, but it feels like a week has gone by."

Ripley nodded. "Honestly, it's going to be awhile before I have any concept of time anymore. I don't want to go into cryo for a long time."

"I don't blame you. I mean, if you get this job, you'll have to, but . . . it probably won't be as bad. Maybe three weeks to a month."

Ripley was quiet for a moment. "It doesn't help that at night, I still see _it_."

Hicks sighed. "I wish I could help you on that front. I've dealt with it with Drake, but . . . that was mostly support. He knows the ins and outs of trauma, and he could help you a lot better than I ever could. I know you two didn't get along all that well, but he's not a bad guy." Hicks grinned a little. "He's a big softie, don't let his face fool you. Don't be afraid to talk to him, that's all. He'll tell you whatever you want to know about nightmares and trauma and how he pulled through his. I mean, he still deals with it, but he's come such a long way, and I'm proud of him."

"I'll keep that in mind. He seemed to know what he was talking about when he apologized."

There was silence for a few minutes. Hicks stared out the window, occasionally picking up his glass to drink from it. "I will admit," he said, "it was brave of you to come along with us right after you came back."

"What else can you do when you don't have much else to . . . really live for?"

Hicks paused to think. "Well, you have yourself to live for."

"Do you have kids?"

"No."

"I don't think you'll understand the feeling of throwing away the life of your own child."

"I don't, but I also don't think what happened was your fault. It could all boil down to a glitch in your escape craft's computer system. Hell, it sounds like the _Nostromo_ was a really old ship even back when you were on it. Stuff happens, and sometimes, there's nothing we can do about it. I'm not dismissing you. Please, don't interpret this as me dismissing you. To some degree, I do know how this feels, because of what I went through when my mentor committed suicide. I blamed myself, I felt . . . like I was the one who drove him to that extreme. To this day, I still wish I could go back and fix something, get him help, anything, and I can't. You can't, either. Do you have any idea how many times I've told this to Drake? Quite a lot, and he eventually accepted it. I took me a much longer time to accept what happened to Paulson, but it eventually happened. The same will happen to you. It won't happen overnight, and you were given a second chance with Newt. Honestly, I kinda hope you keep in contact with us when you go to Florida, because my squad is probably the best group of friends you'll ever have. It'll take no time at all for them to welcome you into their hearts if you give them all a chance, and . . . put up with their quirks."

There was more silence, before Ripley made eye contact with Hicks. "I take it obnoxious drunkenness is one of Hudson's quirks?"

"That's just the tip of the iceberg with Hudson. That is just a very small tip. He's obnoxious, he can be a heavy drinker, he eats a lot, he used to be a 'ladies man,' and he can be gross, but when shit hits the fan, he's the guy you want by your side. He is the very definition of loyal. He will be your best friend. He's always there to listen if you need it, and he gives free hugs." Hicks smiled. "He seems like he's annoying-and he is, sometimes-but he's a good guy. More of a teddy bear than Drake is." He sighed. "I just can't believe Hudson's leaving in a few weeks. I can't remember a day he wasn't on my team."

"He doesn't strike me as the type to stay in the Marines for life."

"No, he doesn't have the same drive that most lifers have. He joined for the same reason most people I know, who aren't lifers, joined; he wanted to find out more about himself and what he really wants out of life." Hicks took another sip of his drink. "Not a bad reason at all. Kinda why I joined. It was Paulson who made me want to make a career out of this."

"Was he a father figure to you?"

"In a way, yeah. He never replaced my father, but he did . . . he did treat me like his own son. Now, he never favored me over Vince, but he made me feel like I belonged, and that's more than I could ever ask for. I'm not distant from my family, but . . . Drake is, and he found purpose and belonging through us. Me, Hudson, Spunkmeyer, Wierzbowski, all of us. It's not impossible for you to find . . . another family, people who'll care about you no matter what." Hicks paused. "Did I already say that?"

"You did."

"Ah. I'm sorry. Very sorry." Hicks looked down at his lap, instinctively reaching for his lighter and cigarettes. "Anything else you wanna talk about?"

"Not really, I guess. It's been nice just talking to you. You're very understanding." Ripley gave him a small smile.

"Do you still find me mysterious?"

"Partly. You're the kind of person who thinks more than he talks, but when you do say something, it's worth hearing."

"Thanks. That's another thing a lot of people have said about me." Hicks set his empty glass aside before putting a fresh cigarette in his mouth. "You're kinda the same way, unless you want something done."

Ripley sighed. "Trust me, Hicks, there was a small part of me that didn't want to leave Kane outside the ship for twenty-four hours with that thing on his face. That's the quarantine protocol, and it had to be followed. If Ash wasn't there, maybe none of this would've happened. If we knew Kane was dead anyway, and we knew why Ash was actually there . . . I don't know."

"Who's Ash again?"

"The android abruptly assigned to our ship. That's why I snapped at Bishop when we were in the mess hall of the _Sulaco_."

"Ah. Gotcha."

"He was there strictly for a specimen. Honestly, I was afraid that's why Bishop was there."

Hicks shook his head. "No. We've had Bishop for years. He's been in that unit since before I was assigned there. Anyone could've told you he's a good guy."

"It would take so much more than that to convince me."

"I know, but . . . it'd be the most we could do." Hicks glanced down at his glass, cigarette hanging from his mouth as his jaws slightly parted. He was deep in thought, then said, "Sorry."

Instead of telling Hicks he was pointlessly apologizing again, Ripley gave a sigh before reaching across the table to squeeze Hicks's hand, and then let go. "Tonight's been fun. Well . . . fun compared to the last several decades."

"Thanks. Maybe we could do this again sometime. After you get yourself settled."

"Maybe. I think I'd like that."

"I just hope I've made your reintroduction to the world the best it could be. I know it wasn't spectacular, but-"

"It was better than nothing."

"Yeah." Hicks took his cigarette out of his mouth, grinning a little. "Anything's better than nothing."

* * *

Hicks and Ripley returned home to find Vince watching television with Newt asleep next to him. He put his fingers to his lips as the two walked in, and Hicks nodded. "How'd everything go?" Hicks whispered.

"Great. She's been asleep for almost an hour," Vince replied. "How'd things go with you?"

"Good. You can go back to your hotel now. You didn't drink a lot, did you?"

"No, but you got some funny messages on your answering machine."

Hicks rubbed his face. "Dammit." He went into the kitchen, pressing a button on the answering machine. Without much of a surprise, it was more drunken ramblings from Drake and Hudson-four, to be exact. When they were finished, Hicks deleted each one, sighing heavily the whole time. "Really hope Apone's got them under control now."

After getting a shower, Hicks powered down for the night in his bedroom, sitting up with a book and hot tea. He felt like his time with Ripley was somewhat of a success. It wasn't like his first date with Carlisle where they argued.

He spent the next day helping Ripley and Newt get enough necessities for their trip to Florida. He knew there was a possibility this would be the last time they spoke to him, and a part of him was OK with that; they simply hadn't spent enough time with him to develop a strong emotional attachment to him. Though, he also felt maybe they'd talk to him again, in the future. After all, he was the first person to really welcome them home.

He'd let Ripley make that decision whether to keep talking to him or not.

The day wound down slowly. Hicks sat on the front porch with iced tea and a cigarette in hand. Despite all that had happened, he still enjoyed August. The activeness of July was but a memory. Everyone was thinking about the looming September. But, the nights were still warm and the days were still long. Hicks continued to take advantage of that, even after joining the Marines. He'd drive into the remote parts of Alabama to hike and be alone, take in the tail-end of summer by himself. He felt it was meant to be enjoyed, not wasted away with rush and worry about school and college. He saw it as a lovely parting gift.

The nights, too, were still meant to be enjoyed. Fewer people walked along the streets. It was quieter. Less busy at night. No one wanted to go out anymore. Everyone wanted to get back into their routines. Hicks continued to sit outside with a drink and cigarette. That's how it was. That's how it would always be.

Hicks glanced over his shoulder when he heard the screen door open, and Ripley stepped out onto the porch. "Hey," Hicks said, "need something?"

"Not really. Just wondering where you were," Ripley replied.

"You can have a seat if you want. I know you have to get up early for your flight tomorrow, but you can take a few minutes to just slow down."

Ripley hesitated before sitting in the open chair near Hicks. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Slow down."

Hicks shrugged. "Comes naturally to some people. Could be a Southern thing, kinda like how Spunkmeyer's told me New Yorkers are fast with everything. Fast walkers, fast talkers, you name it. Could also be just the type of person you are." He took a sip of his tea. "Even Spunkmeyer knows how to slow down in life sometimes. It's an important thing to do, you know, or else you burn yourself out and your mental health begins to deteriorate." He gestured toward the house. "How are you gonna take care of Newt if you're burned out? That'll be something for you to think about on a daily basis."

Ripley nodded. "I never really slowed down before. Maybe what I really need is somebody to show me how."

Hicks was silent for a moment. "Well . . . if you're thinking that somebody will be me . . . I . . . need time to think about that. Plus, we still need time to get to know each other, which . . . we don't have right now. I'm not saying it won't happen. It just won't happen right now. Down the line, maybe." He looked back out at the street.

"I was thinking the same thing. Yes, definitely down the line, we should revisit this."

"I take it you'll be keeping in contact with me once you're in Florida, then?"

"Yes. I . . . don't see why not."

A small smile came over Hicks's face. "It'll be good for you to have someone in contact."

* * *

Driving Ripley and Newt to the airport at an early hour brought back a lot of memories for Hicks, but he didn't let it bother him this time around. In the parking lot, he walked with them only to the main entrance.

Holding Newt's shoulder, Ripley paused to look back at Hicks. When he got closer to them, she let go of Newt to hug Hicks. "Thank you," she whispered.

"No problem," Hicks whispered back. "Good luck." He let go of Ripley, and picked up Newt. "You, too, sweetie. Behave, and remember what I said, about how monsters have bad dreams of Marines coming to get them." He set Newt down, and waved to both of them. "Let me know how things go, OK?"

When the glass doors closed behind them, Ripley took Newt's hand and kept walking, not looking back. Hicks folded his arms over his chest before turning to head back to his truck. The sun was just starting to come up as Hicks arrived home. He could've gone back to bed, but he decided to make breakfast for himself and sit out on the front porch with it.

He enjoyed the rest of the week by himself. Part of him wasn't surprised when Ripley didn't call him, but he wasn't thinking about that when he returned to his unit. He was happy to be back with them, but he hadn't forgotten the annoying phone calls from a few days ago.

After dropping his bags in his room, Hicks went into the lounge to find Gorman had a bandage around his head. Hudson was shaking the vending machine, and Drake was sprawled out on a plush beanbag chair, fast asleep. Biting his tongue, Hicks sighed before saying, "Sir, do you have anything to say regarding the drunken phone calls I got not that long ago?"

"I already paid a fine and got hit on the head when Hudson fell on me. Can we . . . not talk about it anymore?" Gorman covered his face.

"I'm sorry, man." Hudson looked at Hicks. "I can't remember half of what happened that night, man."

Hicks looked at Drake, who lifted his head before saying, "I just remember puking everywhere."

"Good for you. You two are in a lot of trouble, and you know that, right?" Hicks asked.

"Apone took care of it," Gorman said. "And Russell took care of me."

"Well, I'm talking about the stupid phone calls I got from you all."

"We're sorry." Hudson shook the vending machine again.

"Oh, no, Hudson, no cookies for you tonight."

"I already paid, man!"

"Then give it to Wierzbowski."

Hudson cursed to himself while the package of cookies dropped, and reached into the machine to grab it.

"Drake, get up." Hicks gently kicked the beanbag. "You're gonna stand till lights-out."

"You didn't appreciate the happy birthday message I sent you?" Drake grunted.

"No! You were drunk, and you got an officer drunk. No, I don't appreciate it. Stand there and don't say anything."

"Hicks," Gorman looked at the corporal, locking eyes with him, "don't start. Don't get worked up."

Without question, Hicks backed down. _I was starting to sound a little nuts there. _He released his breath. "Go ahead and sit down, Drake," he said, softly. "I'm sorry."

Drake sat back down. Hudson said, "Do I still have to give up the cookies, man?"

"Yes," Hicks and Gorman said at the same time.

* * *

It seemed like everything would be quiet until the day Hudson left. For Hicks, it was as if the last week didn't happen. Maybe the mission to LV-426 didn't happen. However, his dreams at night told a different story. They were too vivid.

The morning after returning to base, Hicks had again dreamed of the infested colony. There was screaming and he watched everyone he cared about be torn apart. It came as a relief to see everyone sitting at the breakfast table that morning.

"Can't believe I'll be married two years in a few weeks," Wierzbowski was saying. "Going leagues better than my first marriage."

"At least you're no longer alone in terms of being married," Frost said, gesturing to Gorman.

"Two'll become three in a few months, man," Hudson added.

Frost snorted. "Really?"

Hudson looked serious. "Yeah. When I go home . . . I'm proposing to Miranda."

"Nice," Hicks replied.

"You're all invited, man," Hudson said. "Drake is my best man, and I'm still thinking about who I want as my groomsmen."

"Get a ring, pop the question, and then make that decision, buddy." Drake made a face while watching oatmeal drip off his spoon.

"I can't wait to have real food again, man." Hudson was observing Drake's reaction to the oatmeal.

There was quiet, before Gorman spoke up. "You wanna know the secret to having your marriage last?"

Both Wierzbowski and Hudson looked up.

"Unless it's a surprise for her birthday, or Christmas, or your anniversary, don't hide anything. It's just gonna make a mess in the long run. Sitting down and talking about things will get you further. And, I know some people say the 'spark' dies after you get married, but that's because they're lazy and don't bother keeping it alive themselves. Hug and kiss often. Don't be afraid to have fun."

"I've told you that," Drake whispered to Wierzbowski.

"It's good advice," Hicks said. "Good advice is worth repeating."

"Oh, and try to negotiate for a small wedding if you can. It'll save you a lot of money and uncomfortable interactions with people you don't know," Gorman added.

"I did my best," Wierzbowski sighed. "Her family wasn't making it very easy."

"I haven't met much of Miranda's family," Hudson said.

Gorman stared at him. "You poor soul. Brace yourself for absolute, pure torment. Brace yourself for people you don't even care about making assumptions about you that aren't even true. Brace yourself for drama that you shouldn't be dragged into. _But_, as long as your beloved is on your side, everything should be fine. Your wedding is about you two, nobody else."

"That's right," Drake added.

Hudson gave a weak smile. "It's . . . still a ways away, man."

"You passed boot camp. How hard could a wedding be?"

"As long as Miranda's family doesn't make her cry and send her running to the base in the middle of the night, everything should be fine," Wierzbowski said.

Ferro's face fell. "Geez, I remember that night clear as day. Poor Eliza."

"It was awful," Drake replied. "The MPs weren't sure what to do until Apone went out there and brought her inside."

"You were being a brat because you were woken up at that hour."

"I don't imagine you shitting sunshine after getting woken up at midnight."

"Drake couldn't shit sunshine if he tried, man," Hudson laughed. "Although we were all shitting rainbows after those cupcakes, man."

"Gorman sure was puking rainbows, I know that!"

Hicks actually smiled while looking down at his tray. A light feeling came over his heart; he was glad to be back with his Marines, though a very small part of him was wondering if he would ever hear from Ripley again.

* * *

_Question: Should Hicks have made Ripley stay longer? Why or why not?_


	6. Part 2: Private Hudson

Hudson sat upright when the plane bounced on the runway. Rubbing his face, he adjusted himself in his seat before the flight attendant ordered all passengers to remain seated until the plane stopped moving.

He was used to taking orders, but he was no longer a Marine, not since three days ago. His contract was up and he was a civilian again. On paper, though. Mentally, it might be awhile before he got used to not wearing a uniform, not being ordered around for everything, not waking up at a certain time. Everything.

He had heard about people feeling very disoriented when they got out of the Marines after a lengthy contract. Hudson was sure he'd be one of those, as his contract was ten years. This was all he knew, and he'd admit only to himself and a few close friends that it was better than what he did before enlisting. He could barely remember what happened before enlisting.

As he stepped off the plane into Washington, he realized just how much he missed his unit. Several times, he fought hard not to get separated from them. They were his brothers and sisters, and he treated them as such. He knew he had left them, voluntarily. He could have chosen to stay longer, but he decided to leave. He wanted to start a new life, because he felt ready.

After their latest mission, he knew he was ready. He didn't want to face what he had seen on LV-426 ever again. Then again, he'd have to, in his dreams.

Hudson looked up when he saw someone familiar standing in the corner of his eye. The sight of his girlfriend, Miranda Harrison, brought a smile to his face, and he slung his duffel bag over his shoulder to let her hug him. He was exhausted, but he was happy to see her.

"Will, aww, Will, welcome home," Miranda whispered, squeezing Hudson tightly. "Everything OK?"

"I just wanna go home," Hudson sighed. "I'm . . . very tired."

"I know. Three flights sounds tough." Letting go, Miranda took Hudson's hand. "Did you get what you needed from Minneapolis?"

"For the most part, yeah," Hudson said. "Just photographs I should've taken with me after boot camp. The apartment was water-damaged and in rough shape after I didn't bother with it for a few years."

Miranda gave him a look. "Yeah, you should've taken care of it a long time ago, sweetie."

"Well, I wasn't expecting . . . to be going home with somebody else at the end of my stint. And I definitely wasn't expecting that somebody to be my girlfriend."

Miranda smirked. "You have a point."

She walked him out to the parking lot, and got in the driver's seat of her car after Hudson loaded his heavy duffel bag into the back. "You know I have work tomorrow, right?" she asked.

"Yeah," Hudson replied.

"You're gonna be OK all by yourself for the whole day?"

"I'm actually looking forward to it. I mean, well . . . I don't mean that like . . . I don't wanna spend time with you-"

"You just need some time to adjust and decompress. That's OK. I understand."

"Thanks, pumpkin." Hudson breathed a sigh of relief.

"I hope you don't mind I bought some clothes for you."

"No, I appreciate it. A lot." Hudson looked out the window. "I didn't really how late it was."

"It's not that late." Miranda glanced at him. "Oh, sweetie . . . you're going to be so jet-lagged for the next few days, you poor baby."

Hudson grinned a little. "I went from Italy to New York to Minnesota to D.C., oh, man, I'm not gonna adjust for awhile. I have no fucking idea what clock I'm on."

"You'll be OK." Miranda reached over to pat Hudson's leg. "You can do whatever you want when we get home."

"You can't let me do that. Can you imagine what Drake would say if he heard you told me that?"

"He'd say that means you're going to eat everything in my cabinets."

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Because I know Mark almost as much as I know you."

Hudson snorted. "Except, you haven't had sex with him."

"True. By the way, I did stock the fridge and cabinets with stuff you like, so, have at it whenever you like."

"You can't say anything to Drake. I'll never hear the end of it."

"If I come home tomorrow to see you're on the floor, unable to move, he's hearing about it first."

* * *

There were a lot of cars in the parking garage when Miranda pulled in, but they were the only people in the entire building. It was deathly silent, aside from the echo of their voices whenever they spoke. Hudson grabbed his bag from the back of the car, slinging it over his shoulder. "We almost there?"

"Almost." Miranda locked the car and put the keys in her pocket before linking arms with Hudson. "You can make it. I know you can."

"You're so cute." Hudson grinned. "You're not tiny, like Wierzbowski's wife, though, but you're adorable."

Miranda sighed. "I'm so happy for them. They had such a lovely wedding." She looked up at Hudson.

"Look, a proposal is supposed to be a surprise. I can't tell you anything about what I have planned. Only thing I can tell you is that we _will_ get married soon. I promise."

Miranda smiled. "I can't wait."

Hudson was smiling internally. He knew that the engagement ring was tucked away in a pouch inside his duffel bag.

When they finally reached Miranda's apartment, Hudson dropped his bag in the bedroom. All the lights were on, aside from the end of the hallway. It was dark. The linen closet was dark. Hudson could picture the long claws of an alien slowly coming out from behind the door.

"Will?"

Hudson looked over at Miranda. "Yeah?"

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah . . . Just . . . disoriented."

"You can shower, if you want."

Nodding, Hudson went back into the bedroom to grab his nightclothes from his duffel bag. He made sure all the lights in the bathroom were on, even the little decorative ones by the sink, before removing his clothes and getting in the shower.

After getting out of the bathroom, Hudson found Miranda preparing hot chocolate in the kitchen. Smiling, she slid a cup to him, and said, "I'll get in the shower next, and then we'll have fun."

Hudson managed a grin. "OK." He took the cup of hot chocolate out to the living room, and sat on the couch. A part of him was still thinking that he would have to return to base in the morning. A moment later, he sighed. _I don't have to go anywhere tomorrow._

A few minutes later, Miranda came out of the bathroom, and cuddled up next to Hudson. "Hi."

"Hi," Hudson replied, setting his cup on the coffee table.

"Everything OK?"

"Yeah. Maybe I'll feel better in the morning. Just tired and disoriented and . . . I dunno . . . depressed, maybe. I miss everyone."

Putting her head on Hudson's shoulder, Miranda hugged him tight. "It's not like you'll never see them again, right? Doesn't Mark get out soon?"

Hudson nodded. "Yeah. In a month. It's just . . . not gonna be easy getting used to not having any of them around all the time. I mean, I slept in close quarters with them. I've had to shower with them. I've eaten with them. That's not an easy thing to forget."

"I understand." Miranda kissed Hudson's chin. "It'll be OK in a few days. You just need time to adjust, and anything you need, I'll do my best to provide."

"Thanks, pumpkin." Hudson kissed her.

"Feeling up for a little fun?"

"Yeah," Hudson whispered. "I can handle some. Don't be surprised if my performance isn't up to par."

Miranda grinned mischievously before taking Hudson's head to kiss him on the lips. Hudson hugged her, kissing her as well. They pulled apart once to breath, and Hudson nuzzled Miranda's face.

"You smell like chocolate," he said.

"So do you," Miranda replied.

Hudson kissed her cheek, then grabbed the cup of hot chocolate from the coffee table. "One minute." When he finished the cup, he pulled Miranda closer to him, kissing her again.

They eventually moved to the bedroom. Hudson didn't hesitate to throw off his shorts as he climbed in bed. He was overwhelmed by a variety of emotions. _I get to live with her forever, _he thought. It was tempting to show her the ring now, but he still wanted to keep it a surprise, make it a more special moment for her. Right now, he just wanted to enjoy his first real night as a civilian.

* * *

Sunlight warmed Hudson's bare back as it poured through the thin cracks of the blinds. He opened his eyes, not seeing Miranda, and seeing the clock, which read 7:41 AM.

_Shit, I gotta get up. _He was well past the time Hicks was going around and yelling for everyone to get up. Rolling out of bed, Hudson grabbed his uniform from his duffel bag, quickly putting it on, and then pausing when he realized where he was.

Sighing, Hudson rubbed his face before going out to the kitchen, where Miranda was having her breakfast. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning. I tried waking you, but you wouldn't budge, so I left you alone," Miranda replied. She looked at him. "You OK?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You're wearing your uniform."

"I know. Like you said last night . . . I'll be fine in a few days." Hudson grabbed a mug from a cabinet to pour himself a cup of coffee. "What time are you gonna be home?"

"Should be five, unless there's an emergency." Miranda tossed her paper plate in the garbage can. "I gotta head out. I'll see you soon." She kissed Hudson's cheek. "Behave. Love you."

"I love you, too." Hudson kissed her as well, and within five minutes, he was left alone in the apartment. He set his coffee cup on the counter before opening the fridge, trying to decide what he wanted for breakfast.

Miranda wasn't wrong when she said she had stocked it for him. Without any hesitation, Hudson pulled out the eggs and package of bacon and set to work making himself a big breakfast. _And Hicks isn't around to tell me "no," _Hudson thought.

While the bacon and eggs were cooking, Hudson put the toaster on the counter, sliding some bread in it. The good bread. Not the bland and dry stuff from base. Everything was so fragrant. _Can't remember the last time I had a real breakfast, man._

Hudson poured a second cup of coffee before sitting down with his breakfast. He definitely wasn't the greatest chef in the world, but anything was better than what he ever had on a base. He savored every bite.

He half-expected Hicks to come around and tell him to stop or slow down. He paused every so often to look around, and then resumed eating. Maybe it was the silence playing tricks on him. Hudson set down his fork and went into the living room to turn the television on. While he flipped through the channels to find something for background noise, he landed on a tech show on some of the USCM's weaponry.

_Jesus, it's only been a day and I actually miss this?_ Hudson sat, watching and vividly remembering using some of the pieces shown, especially the pulse rifle. He'd gotten attached to his, and he missed it.

He changed the channel, giving a heavy sigh. He wasn't sure how he felt about his past career.

Leaving the channel on the weather, Hudson returned to his breakfast, moaning with contentment as he continued to enjoy the fact that this wasn't a base breakfast.

After breakfast, Hudson lay on the couch, wondering if this was all he was going to do that day. If it was, he didn't care. He didn't have to do laundry, clean a pool, clean a bathroom, clean his weapon, nothing. It felt amazing.

* * *

It didn't take very long for the crumbs and wrappers to start appearing (and piling up) on the floor. Hudson pitched a balled-up wrapper toward the garbage can, but it missed, and he didn't bother getting it, partly because he didn't feel like moving. He'd get it later. He adjusted himself to get more comfortable on the couch, loosening his belt and holding his stomach.

With nothing better to do, he put another pillow under his head, settling down to nap. He lowered the volume on the TV, before grabbing a blanket folded up on the end of the couch. _Everyone I know wouldn't be happy with me right now. They probably think I should be searching for a new career. Right now, at this minute. _Hudson sighed. _Well, they're not here. I'll get to it in time. Just not today._

He fell asleep fairly quickly. He was stuffed and already drowsy from the jet lag. It didn't take much to drop off, and he figured he'd sleep until Miranda came home.

Almost immediately, he found himself surrounded by fire. People were shooting off their flamethrowers in the hive in the atmosphere processor. Gorman was yelling something over their headsets, something about a retreat. Wierzbowski was screaming as though he was in intense pain. Hudson's gut wrenched when he saw the bladed tail of an alien pierced through Wierzbowski's stomach. Blood had completely soaked Wierzbowski's trousers. He was calling for Dietrich, then he started calling for his wife.

Drake was in about as worse shape. He had been dragged up to the ceiling, howling as a clawed hand tried stifling his breathing. It was sending Drake into pure panic. He was convulsing and struggling to breathe. And Hudson could do nothing.

He was normally the one who helped Drake during his panic attacks. The fact that here, now, he couldn't do anything, was the most awful feeling he could ever have. He couldn't help anyone.

Hudson was grabbed from behind by Hicks, who dragged him outside the tunnel. "Come on, come on!" Hicks shouted.

"Drake!" Hudson hollered. "We gotta-"

"We can't do anything!"

Hudson broke down in tears. In the APC, he said, "Lieutenant, man, can I see your sidearm?"

Without question, Gorman handed Hudson his pistol. Looking the gun over, Hudson took the safety off, and put the muzzle against the side of his head.

"_No, don't-!_" Hicks yelled.

There was a loud _bang_, and Hudson sat upright on the couch, breathing hard. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he covered his face with the blanket.

A moment later, someone took the blanket away, and he saw Miranda looking at him with concern. "Will, what's going on?" she whispered. She handed him a tissue.

Hudson took a second to keep breathing, and dry his face. "I've been having bad dreams. Bad feelings, too. I keep thinking I'm back on that colony."

Miranda hugged him. "Sweetie . . ."

"Dammit, I don't know what to do," Hudson sobbed. "I'm gonna end up like Drake."

"No, no. You won't end up like Mark, I promise. We're catching this early, OK? It might not even be a problem. It could go away in a few weeks, but we're keeping an eye on it now so it doesn't turn into a problem." Miranda kissed his cheek.

She sat with him for a few minutes, and then looked at him with a slight smile. "I picked up your mess. How many boxes of cookies did you have? Notice I said 'boxes' rather than just 'cookies.'"

A weak smile tugged on the edges of Hudson's lips. "Ah, well . . . one . . . and a half. I put the other on the counter when I couldn't finish."

"Yeah, I saw." Miranda tapped Hudson's nose. "I think you're adorable, but you will be pulling your weight around the apartment."

"I was gonna clean up. Eventually," Hudson replied, grinning a little. "Don't worry. I'll be helpful."

* * *

Miranda sat up in bed with a book, while Hudson stared at the curtains. He was sure he wanted to try and sleep after his earlier bad dream during his nap. He gave a quiet sigh, laying on his sigh, and gazing at the city lights through the cracks in the blinds.

"I heard that," Miranda said, without looking up from her book.

"Heard what?" Hudson asked.

"Your sigh. What's going on?"

"Just thinking. That's all."

"About what?"

"Bad dreams, I guess." Hudson shrugged.

Miranda looked at him, closing her book after putting a bookmark in. "We can stay up and talk." She smiled. "It is nice to know that I'll have you here every night."

"Thanks," Hudson replied. He was quiet for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. "I should start thinking about my career and what I want to do with my life now that I'm . . . no longer a Marine."

"Well, you don't strike me as the type to become a doctor, that's for sure. And I'm not saying that to be mean."

"No, I know that, too. I know I'm not gonna do something spectacular."

"Didn't you join the Marines to figure out what you really wanted out of life?"

"Yeah, but it's not like I got a definitive answer. Honestly, I think I'd be miserable if I tried to get a job similar to what I did in the Marines. I get that tech jobs are really high-paying, and that combined with you being a doctor would . . . get us somewhere we never thought possible, but . . . I'd be miserable." Hudson sighed again.

Miranda placed her book and her glasses on the nightstand. "What's one thing you got out of the Marines that you didn't think you'd get?"

"Friends. Well, good friends. People I know I can trust with anything I have to say to them."

"OK." Miranda paused to think for a moment. "Where did you guys hang out most, off-base?"

"Either a bar or a coffee place, usually."

Miranda snapped her fingers. "You could open up your own bar or coffee shop."

"Me? Run a business? No one's gonna think I can do it."

"I do, and I'm pretty sure Mark and Trevor and the others do."

Hudson shrugged. "Yeah, you're right. I mean, a bar or a café ain't a bad idea. And if I'm running it, I make the rules. I can make it the kinda place I'd go to with Drake and Wierzbowski and the guys. Cozy, inviting, with a wide menu of comfort food-and New York pizza for Spunkmeyer. Or else he won't eat at my place. Dammit, I'll have to serve New York cheesecake as well. And strip steak."

Miranda laughed. "See? You're getting somewhere."

"What would this involve, though? I can't just pick a lot and open a . . . bar-café hybrid."

"No, you'd need a business degree. Among other degrees, especially if you want to be the owner. You'd need to know how to run it, how to manage finances and payrolls, how to interact with your employees, how to interview them. It sounds like a lot, I know, but everyone you love is behind you, and we'll help you every step of the way. If this is what you want, go for it."

* * *

_Question: How should Hudson deal with his partial regret of leaving the Marines?_


	7. Chapter 7

Hudson awoke the next morning to hear Miranda watching the weather in the living room while having her breakfast. Stretching and yawning, Hudson took his time with getting out of bed, and paused before taking out his uniform from his bag.

_I'm a civilian now._ Hudson remembered Miranda telling him that she had bought clothes for him, so he opened a drawer in search for them.

Of course, he probably should have asked before doing so. He blushed when he found one of Miranda's swimsuits, then grinned before holding it up. "Cute," he said. He put the swimsuit back, and continued looking for his clothes. Once he found them, he put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt before going out to the kitchen. He glanced into the living room. "Hey," Hudson said.

"Good morning, sweetie," Miranda replied. "Did you sleep OK?"

"Yeah. No . . . No bad dreams." Hudson opened the cabinet, pulling out a cereal box.

"Good." Miranda stood up to put her empty bowl in the dishwasher, and kiss Hudson. "I'll see you later this afternoon, OK? Behave."

Hudson smirked. "I will." He paused, and then asked, "Is there anything you need me to get?"

"You can go out somewhere if you want. I'm not keeping you locked up here all day." Miranda laughed a little. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Hudson kissed Miranda's forehead.

He had his breakfast while Miranda finished getting ready in the bathroom. She waved to him as she left, slinging her purse on her shoulder. Hudson grinned at her, waving back. When the apartment door closed behind her, Hudson dropped his smile, looking down at the counter. "I shouldn't have lied, man," he whispered to himself.

His sleep last night wasn't all that restful. He knew he was awake at some point, but not fully. He could remember not being able to move, not being able to scream. As though he'd been paralyzed.

Drake suffered from sleep paralysis on occasion-a lot more than anyone would like. He'd emerge from it screaming and gasping for breath, shivering and on the verge of tears. He described it as, "The nightmares trying to continue into my waking cycle."

Hudson had suffered from it shortly after being freed from Doctor Hornby's lab. He could vividly remember seeing a masked figure standing over him with giant syringes. Last night, it wasn't doctors with needles; it was aliens, looking down at him and trying to decide whether to take him back to a hive to be a host for their worm-like spawn, or kill him outright. And he couldn't do anything.

He stared into his coffee cup, unsure of what to do. He trusted Miranda, and wanted to believe the nightmares would end in time, but he was afraid they wouldn't. He was going to end up like Drake.

_How am I supposed to go through college if I'm dealing with this? _Getting up, Hudson put his bowl and mug in the dishwasher. There was a pan in the sink from last night, and he took it upon himself to scrub it clean, rinse it, and put it in the drying rack.

To keep himself from putting his uniform on again in the morning, Hudson took some of his belongings out of his duffel bag. The uniforms would stay in there, but his undergarments could still be used. He put the duffel bag in the closet, next to the big box of Christmas decorations.

Around noon, Hudson sat out on the balcony, watching traffic, watching people walking in the street. It was a busy street, lined with apartments and restaurants and cafés and department stores, and yet he felt lonely. From where he was, he could look over some of the businesses and apartment buildings to see one of the hospital complexes Miranda worked in, with a large red cross on the side. He knew it was where she worked because she pointed it out to him a long time ago.

At least being alone gave him a chance to think about how he wanted to propose to her. He knew she was into things that were sappy and romantic. It would make her day if he did something that seemed right out of one of her cheesy romance movies. _I should take her out somewhere and propose at sunset. She'd love that. _He knew where her favorite restaurant was. He could make reservations, then walk her out to a pier, and get on one knee to ask the big question.

It was something to think about. It was better than thinking about his bad dreams.

* * *

Hudson didn't say anything to Miranda about his sleep paralysis when she came home that night. He wasn't sure how to word it, and he didn't want to be told that it would go away with time, no matter how much he wanted to believe that. It just didn't feel helpful at the moment, and he couldn't blame Miranda for not understanding. As Drake had said before, for someone to completely understand, it meant they'd have to go through what he went through, and that was something no one wanted.

That night, Hudson hoped that night would be restful. He listened to Miranda talk about her day at work, and tried to keep his mind on his proposal plan. His subconscious refused to focus on that, though.

His dream started off with Hicks kneeling in front of him, followed by Apone saying, "How's he doing?"

Hicks thought for a moment, then looked down, sighing while putting his hand on Hudson's forehead.

"Dietrich said the X-rays are showing that thing is lower. Maybe all we'll have to do is sew everything back up," Gorman replied.

"All we can do is hope," Hicks said. He moved back a little when he saw something move under Hudson's shirt. "Lieutenant, make sure Drake doesn't get in here."

Hudson's heart was racing when he felt the movement in his stomach. Something heavy was slithering around in there. He groaned, holding his belly as pain began surging through it.

"I'll shoot it. Hicks, get Dietrich." Gorman pulled out his handgun.

Hudson jolted upright, pain searing throughout his midsection. A torrent of blood suddenly erupted from his upper belly, followed by a screaming little worm-thing trying to move out of a coil of intestine.

He jolted upright in reality, too. Nausea overcame him, and he threw off the blanket to run into the bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet to throw up.

"Will? Will, are you OK?" Miranda knelt next to him. "Sweetie . . ."

Hudson couldn't speak until the retching stopped. When he felt his body start to relax, he slowly sat back, taking a moment to breathe. "Bad dreams . . . Bad dreams . . ." His stomach lurched again, and he grabbed the sides of the toilet, expecting another round of vomit, but getting the dry heaves instead. The muscles in his empty stomach continued to clench and unclench, repeatedly, over and over. For the briefest of moments, he was terrified that an alien spawn would emerge from him, showering him and Miranda with blood and organ parts.

Miranda patiently waited for Hudson to relax. She rubbed his shoulders, whispering to him.

Eventually, Hudson felt the clenching stop, and took a deep breath. He glanced down at the toilet, and closed his eyes.

"Will?"

Hudson paused to think. "I was back on that mission. A . . . I was infected. It . . . I . . . It came out of me . . ." He covered his face. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what? There's nothing to be sorry for, Will." Miranda kissed Hudson's cheek. "Take a deep breath, OK?"

Unable to go back to sleep, Hudson sat on the couch in the living room while Miranda prepared some tea. It was a comfortable late August night, but Hudson had wrapped himself in a blanket, unable to get his emotions under control. When Miranda brought the tea out, Hudson sobbed. "I didn't tell you, but I had sleep paralysis a couple nights ago. I was seeing those things on top of me, and there wasn't anything I could do. I couldn't move."

Miranda sat next to him. "I did say that . . . this will go away in time."

"Well, I don't feel like it's gonna go away. I . . . I need more than that from you. I'm not saying it to be mean, it's just . . . I feel like I need help. Saying it's gonna go away ain't helping."

"How come you didn't say that before?"

"I didn't know how to say it. I'm . . . I'm sorry. You know I trust you and-"

"No, no, no, sweetie, I understand. There's no reason for you to be sorry. No, I should be sorry for my only . . . advice being that this will stop in a few days." Miranda kissed him again, and hugged him tightly.

"How am I supposed to do college and open my own place if I can't . . . I dunno . . ."

"Don't worry about that right now," Miranda whispered. "You just got home. Just worry about recovering and getting your head somewhat level again."

* * *

Once Hudson got the chance to video-call the others back on base, he made the tough decision to not divulge everything to them. He'd tell them about the plane trips and the disorientation, but he'd keep the nightmares and sleep paralysis between himself and Miranda. _I don't need Drake getting worried and worked up. He probably had a rough time getting used to me not being there._

Talking to everyone again felt so good. He didn't feel the need to tell them he was struggling with bad dreams, and he kept his conversation with Drake on his and Miranda's wedding-of course, he made sure Miranda was out of the apartment before discussing that. In short, the plan was to wait for Drake to get confirmation that he was able to leave the Marines before Hudson set a date; he wanted his best man fully involved in the process. After all, Hudson agreed to be Drake's best man when he finally popped the question to Vasquez.

It would be four more weeks before Drake and Vasquez had their meetings about getting their discharges. All Hudson felt like he could do was pray his nightmares subsided before then. He figured the best thing to do was take his mind off it by focusing on the wedding.

He had spoken to Wierzbowski many times about marriage. Hell, he was one of Wierzbowski's groomsmen. He saw the process, but now he was going to be the one at the alter, saying his vows. A part of him wanted more advice. _Our new lieutenant is married. Maybe I can talk to him. _Hudson waited patiently for the call to go through. He stared at a cup of hot chocolate on a coaster on the desk, filled over the brim with whipped cream, and then glanced back at the computer screen.

Within a few short minutes, Gorman was sitting in front of the other screen. "Hey, Hudson, what's up?"

"I got a couple questions, sir, 'bout . . . about getting married. I-I know I talked to you a little about it before I left, but . . . I dunno, I'm . . . I haven't even proposed yet, and I'm anxious."

"Oh, God, the pre-proposal anxiety. Look, what you're feeling now is nothing compared to how you're gonna feel when your actual wedding day gets closer and closer. This is just a sample flavor of it. It's normal. We all go through it."

"What can I do about it?"

"There's not much you can do aside from proposing. Then the real fun begins."

"I already got something planned this Friday. I'm taking her out to dinner, and then proposing on the pier."

"Cute. I was gonna do a simple, home dinner, then get on one knee and ask the question. Instead, I put the little box in a spot where the cats could get at it, and one of them batted it off the dresser. I was in a panic, because I had no idea where it was and I looked all over the bedroom for it, and then the morning after-I didn't tell Lydia what happened-she's kneeling by the dresser, getting something, and picks up the little box from under it. She wakes me up and says, 'Scott, what's this?' And I said, 'Well, honey . . . I believe that's your engagement ring.' I have never seen her cry so much in all my life. I didn't even ask the question; she's holding the box and saying, 'Yes! Yes, I'll marry you!' And the rest is history."

Hudson took a moment to think. "She wasn't mad at you?"

"No. Mistakes happen in life. Not every proposal has to be this highly romantic, sappy, super-cute occasion. Same with a wedding-well, the wedding is a big deal, but just remember what I told you before; the wedding is about you and your bride. Notice I said you _and_ your bride. It's about you and her coming together as two people who've agreed to spend the rest of your lives together. It's not about the family drama. Don't make it an enormous family affair, because you run the risk of toxic people getting in and ruining your day. Big weddings are . . . mentally exhausting, too. You have no fucking idea when you can leave, and everyone wants pictures and they get mad at you when you say you're tired of pictures. Plus, big weddings means the chefs have extra shit to do, and the food doesn't get served on time and more people get mad at you. And then you got the people who can't handle their alcohol and the people who bring their small children, and it's just a big mess."

"I take it that all happened at your wedding?"

"Some of it, yeah." Gorman rubbed his face. "But, at the end of the night, I whispered to Lydia, 'Let's go out the back. I parked my car there. We can go to the airport, stay in a hotel room, and be on our way to Ireland tomorrow morning.' She gave me the sweetest, yet most mischievous smile, and said she'd tell everyone I wasn't feeling good, and we'd leave. It worked. Next week was just me and her and solitude in this pretty little cabin in southern Ireland. It was wonderful."

"And no one noticed you just ditched the party?"

"Nope! I feigned illness and it had everyone convinced. No one followed us outside, and they'd never know we didn't actually go home."

Hudson was quiet again. "It's not like I don't love her. How do I . . . say I'm nervous when that day comes around?"

"Just say it. Listen, if anybody says something about how you're saying this, that, and the other thing because you're 'covering up' the idea that you don't actually love your bride, they're full of shit. Being nervous on your wedding day is normal for brides and grooms. My wife was nervous to tears on our wedding day. Technically, I'm not supposed to see her in her gown until I'm at the alter, but when we were waiting for the ceremony to start-the minister got stuck behind a snowplow and there was an accident on the street ahead of him-Lydia was . . . overthinking things a little bit. She begged and begged her father to go get me, so he comes down the hall to where my party is, and whispers, 'Lydia wants to talk to you.' I asked why, and he said, 'She just needs your emotional support right now.' So I leave, I go to her room, and she's telling me that she's afraid of screwing up in front of her family and all these officers from the Marines and my family. That actually came as a relief for me, because I was nervous, too. This was a few years before I got my commission, but there were still prestigious military people there. Russell, Hardy, they were there, mostly out of respect for me, but also because Lydia is technically related to the late General Paulson, so, screwing up in front of them would've been . . . a whole other league of embarrassing.

"Even though we hadn't even said our vows, that moment before the ceremony was probably a bigger deal. I was nervous sitting with her in front of her parents, but . . . just being there and comforting her showed them that I could take care of her and be the best husband I possibly could be. Little things like that go a long way. That's the important thing. When you get married, you really don't take on any other responsibilities other than making sure you don't lose your ring down the drain. Everything you do while dating should continue into your marriage."

Hudson nodded. "What about . . . if you're planning on having kids?"

"That's a different ballgame I can't quite help you with. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'll give you whatever advice you feel you need, but Lydia and I aren't really ready for kids. Not with my job. However, I'm perfectly happy being 'Uncle Scotty' for her niece. She's the cutest little thing and I love her to death. And I have my cats. Had cats all my life, and they're good companions." Gorman paused, and glanced at Hudson. "I think you'll be fine on all fronts. Maybe marriage and kids will mellow you out a little." He smirked.

Hudson wasn't sure whether to return the smirk. "I appreciate the advice, sir, thanks."

"No problem. I wish you luck, Hudson."

After disconnecting from the signal, Hudson took a moment to think. He looked at a clock, seeing he still had several hours before Miranda came home. He pondered going out for a walk, but there was also a part of him that just wanted to stay inside, and not do anything.

He paced the apartment, thoughts of his dreams coming to the surface of his mind. Covering his face, Hudson gave a sigh. _I can pull through this, can't I?_

* * *

_Question: Should Hudson have kept his nightmares from Drake?_


	8. Chapter 8

Despite not wanting to worry Drake, Hudson continuously debated with himself about telling Drake about his nightmares. It was a horrible feeling, keeping these things from his best friend. On the other hand, Drake was three thousand miles away; he couldn't come to Hudson's aid right away. It would stress him out to no end for the next four weeks.

Even Miranda couldn't come up with a solid answer, but she gave Hudson a good idea: talk to someone else within the squad. Someone who wouldn't tell Drake.

Wierzbowski was out of the running. He hated keeping secrets from friends.

Spunkmeyer? He understood, but when he starts talking, it would be difficult to make him shut up. God only knows if he would spill the beans in front of Drake.

Hicks would see it as his duty to tell Drake.

Frost probably wouldn't understand.

It sounded crazy, but maybe Gorman was Hudson's answer. He wasn't emotionally attached to anyone within the squad to feel that obligation to tell Drake, but he had been serving long enough to see almost anything a Marine could go through, physically and emotionally. He might understand.

It was early evening in Venice, so Hudson wasn't surprised to see Gorman in a rumpled T-shirt haphazardly tucked into his shorts and beads of water in his hair. As he sat in front of the video screen, Gorman turned to shout at someone in the doorway of the comms room. "Hey! Either go do that in the lounge, or you can go to bed early!"

Hudson smirked. "Gee, man, that's the first time that's never been aimed at me."

"Well, I think Spunkmeyer and Drake miss you. That's the second time this week I've caught them throwing chocolate malt balls into each other's mouths."

"I still hold the record for twenty-two, man."

Gorman nodded, unsure whether he was supposed to be impressed or not. "Alright, Hudson, what's going on in your neck of the woods?"

Hudson paused, trying to put his thoughts together. "I . . . guess I need someone to talk to right now."

"Is this about your proposal-"

Hudson put his finger to his lips. "_Shh! _She's home right now and I wanna keep this a surprise, man." He made a locking motion next to his mouth.

"Right, right, sorry."

"And, no, it's not about that or marriage or any of that. It's . . . I . . . Ever since I came home, I've been having bad dreams about . . . what we saw on LV-426. Bad dreams, and sometimes I get jumpy in the dark. Sleep paralysis where . . . I see these things hovering over me and I can't move."

"Is it just bad dreams, or have you been experiencing things while awake?"

"Like flashbacks? No."

"Alright. My best advice for you is to express this to people in your support system. Does your girlfriend know about this?"

"Yeah. She . . . told me it'd stop in a few days or so. I ended up saying that doesn't feel helpful, and she's been more understanding about it."

Gorman swiveled back and forth in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Are you afraid of this getting worse?"

"I saw what PTSD did to Drake. I don't want to go through what he went through. I mean, I know you didn't see it, but . . . I dunno, man."

"I didn't see Drake's journey specifically, but I've seen it in other Marines. I also know, first-hand, what you're going through right now. It did go away after some time passed, but that didn't make the experience any less unpleasant. It feels like a wave crashes over you and it takes a little while for you to get back on your feet and refocus. You have the nightmares, you feel like things are going to spiral out of control, and you don't know what to do. Is this something to be concerned about, or will it pass? Well-" Gorman shrugged, "I asked myself the same questions every single time I came home after a mission, and I started having nightmares."

"How did you . . . push past it, if that's the right term?"

"I take time to focus on me, my mental health, and everything that needs my immediate attention in my living space. That includes the people you live with. For me, it's my wife, and my pets. I spend a couple hours just talking to my wife, listening to whatever she has to say, whether it's something going on with her job, or something she's thinking about. I make sure my cats have fresh food, water, clean litter, and playtime-well, that's mainly with Pixie. Bomber just wants a lap to sit on. Anyway, I keep my mind busy. That's the most important thing you can do. Believe me when I say I understand the desire to just curl up in bed and not do a damn thing-you can do that, nothing wrong with it. Eventually, though, you will get restless. You will start to feel . . . like you need to do something. Anything. It doesn't have to be something big. Sometimes, just taking a walk helps. Plan a date with your significant other. Something to just not sink back into that dark void of nightmares and emptiness. Just don't resort to drugs and alcohol."

Hudson nodded.

"I know sometimes it doesn't feel like it's gonna end, but . . . at least try it."

"What if it doesn't work?"

"If the nightmares get worse, if you start seeing things when you're awake, my first suggestion is to stop, think, and don't panic. As you've seen with Drake, PTSD is manageable. He's probably the best person you can talk to about it."

"Well, that's the other thing I wanted to talk about. I . . . got to talk to Drake a couple days ago, but I couldn't bring myself to tell him what's going on. I know how he is, and I know he'll get stressed over the fact that . . . he can't be here, physically, to help me. I know he'll get anxious and I don't want to put him through that."

"Tell him that. Tell him you understand his anxiety. I think everything will be fine when you actually sit down and talk to each other. Just talking to someone who's been through it first-hand helps. Plus, he's your best friend, right?"

"Yeah."

"You have no valid reason not to tell him."

"OK."

Gorman gestured toward the hallway. "Want me to go get him for you?"

"Sure." Hudson took a deep breath while waiting for Gorman to return with Drake. He glanced to his left when he heard the bedroom door open.

"Hi," Miranda said. "Everything OK? I made you some tea." She set a mug and coaster on the desk.

"Yeah. Just . . . waiting for Drake."

"Can I say 'hello?' I haven't talked to Mark in awhile."

"If you want, yeah." Hudson picked up the mug, and took a sniff. "It's a little early for pumpkin, honey."

"They're already putting out fall stuff at the stores, so I couldn't help but get a box. And pumpkin's good for you."

"Yes, you are." Hudson grinned at her. He glanced back at the screen when he noticed Drake and Gorman sitting in front of the computer on the other line.

"Hi, Mark," Miranda said.

"Are you fattening him up already?" Drake asked.

"It's tea, sweetie."

Drake smirked. "Right."

"Mark!"

"I'm just kidding around. You just here to say 'hi?'"

"I am. Not sure what Will wants." Miranda waved to the screen. "Nice to see you, Mark. We can't wait for you to come home."

"Getting closer every day."

Miranda kissed Hudson's cheek before leaving the room, and Hudson turned to face the screen.

Gorman mouthed, "Tell him."

Taking a breath, Hudson spoke. "Drake, I'm . . . Th-There's something I gotta tell you that I didn't tell you a few days ago."

"Spit it out, buddy," Drake said, shrugging.

"I've been having nightmares about our last mission."

Drake's gaze softened. "Frequently?"

"Almost every night since I came home. Except the first one."

"Probably because you had sex, didn't you?" Drake snorted.

Gorman elbowed Drake in the ribs.

"Ow!"

"Who knows?" Hudson sighed. "Anyway, I . . . I guess . . . I don't want it getting worse . . . and the only reason I didn't tell you was because I didn't want you getting stressed over it."

"If you want me to be honest, I kinda knew this was going to happen. It happened after Hornby's lab. It happened after Romania. It happened after the Cetii Epsilon Four campaign. Every time, you were concerned about developing post-traumatic stress because of what you witnessed with me. Every time, you eventually stopped having the nightmares and uncertainty, and you went back to your goofy self. Some people's brains are wired to push past trauma a lot quicker than others. It's nothing to be ashamed of. And if you do end up developing PTSD, it's not the end of the world for you. I know it took me four years, but maybe you'll take less. It's an obstacle. Sometimes, that obstacle follows you around and you're trying so hard to push it away that you forget about actually conquering it. Sometimes, it's not a single obstacle but multiple. I've compared it to a mountainous terrain. It's never one mountain you have to climb; you have to climb a whole range. Sometimes, you find yourself climbing more than one. It really sucks and it takes a toll on you and everyone around you, but it's not unbeatable." Drake winked. "Especially when you have me by your side."

Hudson smiled a little. "That . . . does make me feel better, Drake. And you're not upset I didn't tell you before?"

"No. Not upset, not anxious. I wish you told me earlier, but that's OK. I understand your reasoning."

Gorman gave Hudson a "told you" look.

"Oh, by the way, Spunkmeyer beat your record with the chocolate malt balls."

"No," Hudson said, grinning.

"Yes, sir, he did. Twenty-four."

"He was using the mini ones."

Drake shook his head. "Nope. The regulars."

"Alright, alright, it sounds like we have everything sorted out here," Gorman interrupted, gesturing for Drake to leave. "Go on back to the lounge, now, shoo." He looked back at the screen. "Have a good night, Hudson."

"You, too, sir." Hudson didn't leave his seat until the connection ended. He shut down Miranda's computer, and took his tea out to the living room. Not wanting to dwell on his nightmares, he set the cup on the coffee table, and sat next to Miranda. "So . . . I wanted to tell you that . . . I got plans for Friday night. I decided that I need to get out of the apartment for a few hours, so, I'm taking you out to dinner."

Miranda smiled, putting her arms around him. "Thank you, Will. Where are we going?"

"It'll be a surprise." Hudson kissed her. "I love you."

* * *

On Friday morning, Hudson awoke after a fairly restless night. There were no nightmares, but he had a hard time getting to sleep, waking up several times and laying there, staring up at the ceiling.

"I'll be home a little earlier," Miranda said during breakfast. "Is this a fancy place we're going?"

"Not really. You can dress up if you want." Hudson put his plate in the dishwasher. "And then you can dress down for me at home."

Miranda smirked. "Maybe. We'll see how we both feel when we come home tonight. You'll probably stuff yourself and won't feel like doing anything except sleeping when we get back." She playfully jabbed Hudson's belly before standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. "I'll see you later."

"Have a good day, pumpkin." Hudson kissed her forehead. Once Miranda left, Hudson went into the bedroom closet to dig out his duffel bag. He was glad to see the ring was still in its place.

Throughout the day, Hudson practiced his proposal, hoping and praying he didn't screw up or lose the ring. He knew doing it on the pier came with a huge risk of dropping the ring in the water, but all his years handling a pulse rifle had taught him to have a steady hand. Hopefully, his nerves wouldn't take away from that.

He wore a jacket with deep pockets to conceal the ring, and his excuse to Miranda was that the restaurant he picked had the air conditioning cranked.

"I'll be honest, I don't deal with the cold well," Hudson said, hoping to keep Miranda's mind from wandering to the possibility that this was going to be the proposal.

"I don't, either," Miranda replied, "yet I'm still living here."

"Well, now you don't have to think about moving, because you have me to cuddle every single day."

"I do." Miranda smiled. She glanced out the window of the train. "Can I have a hint on where we're going?"

"Then it wouldn't be a surprise."

"One hint?"

Hudson sighed, smiling. "Alright. It's in two stops."

"Anything else?"

"You said, 'one hint,' and I gave you one hint. Be patient, pumpkin." He nuzzled her forehead.

Seeing Miranda smile when she realized they were going to her favorite diner brought a warm and light feeling to Hudson's chest. He sat across from her, spreading his arms and saying, "Surprise."

"You're so sweet, Will," Miranda said.

"You've done a lot for me the last week or so, and I should repay you. This is my treat. You don't have to pay for anything."

"You didn't have to make it a surprise, though."

Hudson shrugged. "I dunno. Just felt like doing something nice."

"And I appreciate it." Miranda reached across the table to pinch Hudson's cheek.

It was difficult to act like everything was perfectly normal about that night. Hudson's heart was pounding with excitement, and it sapped his appetite. He tried to mentally rehearse things, trying to convince himself that he wouldn't mess this up.

"Will? Are you OK?"

Hudson glanced over at Miranda, snapping out of his thoughts. "Yeah, I'm OK."

"You're going rather slow with your food. That's not like you."

"Just thinking, that's all."

"About your nightmares?"

"Little bit." Hudson sighed. "I think I'll be fine."

"I think things will look better for you when Mark gets out and you two can just sit and talk for hours."

"Yeah. I mean, that's why I wanna open my own bar. I feel like . . . that's the place where you hang out with your friends and talk about life . . . if that makes sense to you."

Miranda nodded.

"I just don't want anything to get in the way of me working to make that happen."

"In terms of college?"

"Yeah."

"You're gonna have challenges regardless. The good news is that the military will pay for your schooling and you should receive more benefits than you can dream of when you apply anywhere."

"What about getting a job?"

"Let's cross that bridge when we get there. Right now, you just worry about adjusting yourself to civilian life."

"You don't think . . . what I'm doing right now is lazy?"

"No. You're not feeling good, so just take the time you need, and then deal with life. Besides, I have a feeling you'll be more motivated when Mark comes home."

A small grin crossed Hudson's face. _I hope so._

He grew more anxious when they left the diner and headed to the pier. He knew anxiety and a full stomach didn't go good together, so he took a deep breath. _Everything's gonna be fine. You'll get on one knee, you'll ask, she has no reason to say no._

He could still feel the velvet box in his pocket. That relaxed him a little.

"This is so romantic, sweetie," Miranda said, gazing at the sunset.

Hudson nodded. He could hear Gorman in his head saying, "_Just propose, and you'll feel better. No more anxiety. Until the fun of planning your wedding starts._"

A small part of him couldn't believe he was doing this. Years ago, he wouldn't have ever thought he'd be doing this. He wouldn't have ever thought he'd find somebody he felt like he could live with for the rest of his life. Everyone in the squad had he was the least likely to get married-or, at least, have a long-lasting marriage. _I guess you could say I grew up._

He patted his pocket one last time, and then said, "I think I dropped something." He glanced up to make sure Miranda wasn't looking as he took the box out of his pocket. He took another breath, closing his eyes to try and remember what he wanted to say. _All that's important is that you ask the question._ Hudson cleared his throat. "Miranda, I've been meaning to . . . ask you something, and . . . I figured now was a good time."

Miranda's hands were shaking as she covered her mouth, tears beginning to stream down her face.

"Would you . . . Will you marry me?"

"Yes! Oh my God, yes!" Miranda grabbed Hudson in a hug. "Yes, I wanna marry you!"

Holding her tight, Hudson felt a weight lift from his shoulders. A sense of happiness flooded him. _I'm ready for this new chapter in my life. I'm ready to be a husband. I think . . . I'm also ready to be a father. But we'll wait a few years for that._

* * *

Hudson broke the news to Drake while Miranda called her family. Drake promptly got up to tell everyone else, and a second later, Wierzbowski and Gorman entered the comms room, looking pleased.

"I don't think I've ever seen Drake that happy, man," Hudson said, shrugging.

"Yeah, and the time he accidentally got a dose of novocaine doesn't count." Wierzbowski smirked.

"Do you feel better now that you asked and got your answer?" Gorman asked.

"A lot better, man," Hudson replied.

"Did you set a date?"

"No. I'm gonna wait until Drake gets his discharge."

"And your lady's OK with that?" Wierzbowski asked.

"Yeah. Drake's as much her friend as he is mine, man."

"Makes sense."

"I want you, Spunkmeyer, Hicks, and Frost to be my groomsmen."

"Thanks, Hudson." Wierzbowski leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest, and looking at Gorman. "Now the fun begins for him."

"I think he'll be fine," Gorman said. "Just keep it small and cut the toxic threads ASAP."

"I guess the issue with that is that . . . I don't know her family that well. And . . ." Hudson braced himself, "she's told me she wants a big, fancy wedding."

Gorman covered his face. "Get out there and tell her to stop calling people! That's an order!"

"Yeah, do that, right now, mate." Wierzbowski had a nervous look on his face.

Hudson stood up and went out to the kitchen. "Hey, honey? Could you-" he gestured for her to put down the phone.

Miranda frowned. "I'll call you back, Mom." She hung up, looking at Hudson. "What's up?"

"How many people have you called?"

"Just my parents."

"OK." Hudson breathed a sigh of relief. "Could you . . . not call anybody else until we get more things settled?"

"Why?"

"Well . . . I want a small wedding. Not a big, loud . . . crazy one." Hudson felt a pit form in his stomach.

Miranda gave him a look.

"Please, don't get mad. I wanna compromise with you. Just . . . don't call anyone else until we work things out, OK?"

Biting her lip, Miranda turned away to lock herself in the bathroom.

Every organ in his torso twisted painfully. Hudson rubbed his face as he walked into the bedroom, and sat in front of the computer. "Um . . . I think she's mad, man. She just went in the bathroom and shut the door."

Wierzbowski gave him a sympathetic look. "Leave her alone, then. Let her think about it, and then talk things over."

Gorman nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Don't worry. Arguments happen. All part of relationships."

"We really haven't had a bad argument in years, man." Hudson put his head in his hands.

"You're both human beings at the end of the day. What you want will clash, and the best thing to do is sit down and talk about it. Give your side, let her give her side, and then work on it from there."

"The worst thing you can do is keep your feelings to yourself," Wierzbowski added. "Neither of you are doormats for the other."

"Is it wrong I feel like I fucked up, man?" Hudson groaned. "I literally just got engaged and she's mad at me, man!"

"No, it's not wrong. Just remain calm, don't panic. Everything will be OK, trust me," Gorman said. "This is probably not the worst argument you'll ever have. The important thing is that you both put in the effort to make amends."

"And you can't not compromise with your wedding," Wierzbowski added. "Just make sure it'll make you both happy. It's your special day."

"And if you have to flee out the back door with your wife, do it!"

* * *

_Question: Could Hudson have better handled telling Miranda he wants a smaller wedding, or was her reaction inevitable?_


	9. Chapter 9

There were several long minutes of silence. The room gradually got darker as night progressed, with the only light being from the computer screen. Hudson's head was in his hands, and on the screen, Wierzbowski and Gorman were watching him.

"I'm gonna go put the children to bed," Gorman said softly while standing up. "I'll be back in two minutes." He patted Wierzbowski's shoulder. "You can stay if you want."

"I was going to go get some tea for us. Might be a long night, I'm afraid." Wierzbowski got up as well. "Stay put, Hudson, we'll return soon."

Hudson had no problem staying where he was. He figured having company was better anyway. He glanced out into the hall, seeing the bathroom door was still closed. Sighing, he put his head on the desk.

"Hudson, go make yourself a cup of cocoa or tea or something," Gorman said when he sat back down. "Not like she's mad enough to keep you outta the kitchen."

Not one to disobey his former superior, Hudson got up to make that hot chocolate. While the water heated, he kept looking at the bathroom door, then walked over to knock. "Miranda? I know . . . I know you're upset, but can we please talk?"

He got no answer.

"Honey, this isn't gonna solve anything? I'm well-aware you wanted a big, fancy wedding, but I think you also knew I wanted something smaller. We have to talk and make compromises if we're gonna get this to work. Come on, we just got engaged."

He had to walk away when the kettle threatened to whistle, and took it off to add the water to the chocolate mix in a cup. Sliding a coaster under it, he walked back into the bedroom, turning on the lights before sitting down. He noticed Gorman had left, and Wierzbowski was seated in front of the screen with a mug of tea.

"Gorman's getting a bath," Wierzbowski said. "Few minutes or so, and he'll be with us."

"I tried knocking on the door, man, she won't answer," Hudson replied, sighing heavily.

"Give her a little more time. She'll come around and think a bit more clearly. Honestly, this must be something she's had on her mind a long time if she still won't answer, but, she will answer, eventually. Can't hide forever."

"It's my fault."

"It's not. Think of it this way, if you just let her call everyone in her phonebook, there would be no compromising on that front. You'd be miserable, and worse yet, you'd probably have Drake passing out like he did at my wedding."

"Yeah. I don't wanna do that to him. I know it's not about him, but he's my best man, and my friend, and I don't want him uncomfortable."

"I'm sure Miranda would understand that. Let her know that when she's ready to talk to you."

Gorman re-entered the room, wearing a bathrobe and holding a steaming cup. "Did I miss anything?"

"No, sir," Wierzbowski replied.

"OK." Gorman looked at Hudson. "You doing alright?"

"I don't know." Hudson took a sip of his drink. "I guess . . . I just don't know."

"You'll be OK. If you really, really love each other, you'll work things out."

"I hope so."

"I'm guessing you just want us for company until she wants to talk," Wierzbowski said.

"Yeah," Hudson replied. "I'm sorry if I'm keeping you guys up."

"Hey, once a Marine, always a Marine," Gorman said. "Anything you need, we're here to help, even though you're a civvie now."

"Thanks, man."

Hudson couldn't find much to talk about, so he and Gorman and Wierzbowski played some internet card games while Hudson waited for Miranda. He glanced up when he heard the bathroom door open, and gestured to Wierzbowski and Gorman that Miranda had finally emerged.

Gorman gave him a thumbs-up, and Wierzbowski said, "Good luck."

Hudson stood up, looking Miranda in the eye. He breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't immediately turn to go back in the bathroom. "Honey, I-"

"I know, Will, and . . . I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," Miranda replied. She covered her face. "Are your friends listening?"

"Well, yeah, but I trust them. They're both married, they know what it's like, so . . ."

"Fine." Miranda followed Hudson into the bedroom. She glanced at the computer screen, and sat next to Hudson. "Alright. You . . . want a smaller wedding, and you've told me you want a smaller wedding." She ran her fingers through her hair. "I . . . A lot of my family already knows that I'd be getting married at some point, and I was told by some . . . that I should have a large wedding. I guess what I'm worried about is . . . telling them what you want . . . because the groom typically doesn't have much of a say, other than who he invites. I want you to have a say."

"So, you're not mad at me. You're just worried 'bout what your family's gonna say. OK." Hudson nodded. "I mean, you're . . . you're your own person, and this is gonna be your big day-and mine-and, you know, you can call some shots, and if you say you want a shorter guest list, then . . . go for it. If they think the bride should wield all the power, then tell them you want a smaller wedding. You shouldn't worry too much about what anybody thinks . . . other than me, I guess."

"We're still going to compromise on some things."

"I know."

"Thank you." Miranda looked at Gorman and Wierzbowski.

"I take it we should leave you alone now?" Gorman asked.

"I guess," Hudson replied. "Thanks."

"Glad we could help."

* * *

Hudson spent most of the next day writing out and researching his side of the wedding plans. He knew Drake was supposed to be helping, but that wasn't possible at the moment.

At least it kept his mind off his nightmares for the time being, but that didn't mean they weren't dwelling on his subconscious.

He lay awake that night while Miranda was reading. She smiled at her engagement ring before setting it on her nightstand, turning off the light and snuggling up next to Hudson. "You OK?" she asked.

"Yeah," Hudson replied. "Just thinking, that's all."

"About what?"

"About . . . the wedding, and . . . my nightmares, and what I'm gonna do with my life."

"I think everything will turn out OK. Just take everything one step at a time." Miranda put her arms around Hudson's neck, kissing him on the lips. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Hudson hugged her close. "Have you thought about where you wanna go for our honeymoon?"

"No. Do you have any ideas?"

"Would you rather go somewhere warm or cold?"

"Warm."

"In the States or abroad?"

"States."

"Florida?"

"Yeah." Miranda rubbed Hudson's cheek. "A romantic getaway in Miami."

"OK, so you want the very clichéd tropical honeymoon. I can do that." Hudson kissed her again. "I just want good food every night."

"You'll get good food every day, and you're gonna have good food at our wedding. We're gonna have the best cake in the city-and you can't eat it until the big day."

"I can take the leftovers home, right?"

"Yes, you may." Miranda kissed the tip of Hudson's nose.

"Thanks, pumpkin." Hudson hugged her tighter, kissing her forehead and cheeks. "How come you're so cold?"

"It's cold in the hospital."

"Well, gee-" Hudson rubbed Miranda's arms, "I gotta warm you up, now."

She smirked at him. "What if I get out the fluffy blanket a few months early?"

"But, it's not fall or winter, yet."

"I know, but I'm cold."

"OK, OK. Be quick."

Miranda stood up, opening the closet to pull the soft blanket from its storage box on the floor. She draped it over herself and Hudson, snuggling as close as she could to him.

"You know," Hudson said, "I think Gorman's right. When we get married, we won't have to change much. Just make sure we don't lose our rings. We'll still do this at night, and kiss and hug, and I'll take you to dinner every so often."

"Things would change when we have kids, though."

"I know, but . . . I think if we keep doing the little things, it won't seem so . . . I don't wanna say bad, because having a kid won't be bad. It'll be great. I guess it'll . . . make the changes more bearable."

"You think you're ready to be a dad?"

Hudson nodded.

"Well, let's give it a few years. Just until you get everything settled."

"Sounds fair." Hudson kissed her again, before nestling down into the pillows to sleep.

* * *

"You're not active duty anymore, so you can't wear a dress uniform," Gorman was saying, watching Hudson write things down in a notepad. "That means you get to go tux shopping."

"Sounds awesome, man," Hudson sighed.

"It won't be too bad when you find something that fits. Your best man is supposed to help with that."

"I know. He's got, what, three weeks?"

"Yeah."

"OK. Working through this, man. We'll get there in one piece." Hudson looked down at his notepad. "Alright. Can't wear uniforms. Best man is in charge of planning the bachelor party. Miranda and I have to agree on the cake, where the reception's gonna be. She's already taking care of stuff on her side. I guess . . . we're OK until Drake can be involved. I'm just glad Wierzbowski's wife is Miranda's helper."

Wierzbowski called from the other side of the room, "My wife is the best woman for this job! She's been in Miranda's place!"

Hudson grinned. "He loves her so much. It's cute, man."

"I _promised_ to love her! When you make that promise at the alter, you can't break it!"

"I won't be breaking any promises, man."

"You better not. If any of us catch you doing what you used to do ten years ago, I'll beat your head in."

Hudson turned red with embarrassment. "Yeah . . . Trust me, you won't see any of that again. I can promise that for sure."

Gorman glanced back at his screen. "Anyways, anymore questions?"

"Not really. Well . . . is it true I can't see her in her wedding dress before the ceremony?"

"That's more of a tradition than an actual rule. Unless she wants to know what you think. Normally, the bride-to-be goes and tries on dresses with her bridesmaids-"

Wierzbowski covered his face. "Miranda's party had better be nice to my Eliza. She had an awful experience with trying on dresses."

"I think it'll be fine if Eliza's in charge, man," Hudson said, picking up his coffee. "Is . . . Drake available to talk?"

"Not at the moment." Wierzbowski frowned.

"Is everything OK?"

"Physically, yeah," Gorman replied. "Drake's mood has been all over the place regarding his meeting in a few weeks. This morning, he crashed. He wouldn't leave his bed, and there was no convincing him to get up, so we let him go."

"He'll be alright, though," Wierzbowski added. "Don't worry."

"Well, now I am worried, man," Hudson said. "I'm usually the one who pulls him outta this."

"We'll tell him you're concerned. That's the best we can do right now, Hudson, I'm sorry." Gorman rubbed his face.

Hudson wasn't sure he could put up with the feeling of being powerless to help Drake. _I'm always there and now I'm not._

"I think you need to take a walk and try to relax, Hudson. It sounds like you've been cooped up in your apartment for a little too long, and you need some air."

* * *

Hudson's mood didn't change much when he got back from his walk, and he didn't feel like talking to anyone. He lay on the couch, powerlessness continuing to envelope him.

"Hi, Will," Miranda said as she entered the apartment. She frowned upon noticing Hudson's sad position on the couch, and hung up her purse and keys before going over to sit with him. "What's wrong?"

"Drake's having a depressive episode and I can't help him." Hudson glanced at Miranda. "You know, I knew moving to this life was gonna be hard, but I didn't think it was gonna be this hard."

"Will, trust me when I say it's been just as hard watching you suffer and not knowing how to help you." Miranda sighed. "You need to start looking for a job. Something that will help you in the long run with your future business. It'll be good for you; it'll take your mind off everything that's going on, and it'll help pay for the wedding. I know you're not motivated right now, but I know you. You tend to be less stressed when you're working on something." She kissed his cheek. "And I know some places where you'd be a good fit to their staff. Whaddaya say? Tomorrow you go look for something? Can you do that for me?"

Hudson nodded.

Kicking her shoes off, Miranda rested her head on Hudson's shoulder. "I don't think Mark would want you to give up, sweetie," she whispered. "You never know. He might feel good enough to talk to you tomorrow. I'm sure the others are keeping an eye on him and letting him know you miss him and are worried."

"They are. I trust they are. Oh, Wierzbowski wants to make sure your bridesmaids aren't gonna give you a hard time for the dress fitting, because of what happened to Eliza."

"It's just gonna be me and Eliza for the dress fitting."

"Good."

"Yeah. I was there. I know what happened, and . . . that's why I just want one person with me. One person I know isn't going to be a pain. I mean, I'm pretty sure Mark is gonna be the only person helping you with your suit, right?"

"Yeah, he is. Well, I haven't had the chance to . . . ask, yet. I was gonna do that today, but . . . I'll let him rest. Try tomorrow." Hudson moved to kiss Miranda, but abruptly paused. "You smell like the hospital, honey, might wanna go shower."

"I was going to, but you were looking very sad and I wasn't about to leave you."

"And I appreciate that. I feel better now. You don't smell good. Actually-" Hudson paused, "you smell like Dietrich. And she hated me. Sorta. She got better about not throwing things at me or threatening to hit me as the years went on. Wierzbowski helped get her less bitchy."

"Did you ever thank her for all she did for you despite that, like I told you to?" Miranda gave him a look.

"I did the night before I left."

Miranda shook her head. "You should've done that a lot earlier, sweetheart."

"At least I did it. Miraculously, she accepted it. At least . . . I hope she did."

"Alright, Will." Miranda stood up. "I'll go shower, and then I'll start dinner."

"I have to kiss you after your shower, but before you start dinner." Hudson grinned. When Miranda left, he went into the bedroom, turning the computer on. He frowned when he realized it was almost eleven at night in Venice, so he couldn't call anyone. However, someone had left a message.

"_Hudson - Talked to Drake not that long ago. Told him you were worried when I told you about his depression. He said he appreciated the concern, and he's feeling a little better. Told me to tell you that he's sorry for making you worried. - Lt. Gorman_."

A weight lifted from Hudson's shoulders. He let out his breath, leaning back in the chair before writing out a "thanks" to Gorman.

A few minutes later, he heard Miranda leave the shower, and waited outside the bathroom door to grab her in a hug when she came out.

"I'm still wet, Will!" Miranda laughed when Hudson hugged her.

"But you smell so good." Hudson kissed her. "There. I gave you your kiss. Now you can make dinner."

"Thank you, Will." Miranda kissed his cheek. She let go to head into the kitchen, Hudson following.

"Oh. I just got a message saying Drake's doing OK."

"Well, good. Do you feel better?"

"Yeah."

"You're still going out and looking for a job tomorrow, though."

"I know. That hasn't changed." Hudson sat at the kitchen counter. "I've been through job-hunting before, so, I think I'll be fine."

"You sure? I'd be glad to help."

"Thanks, but . . . I dunno. I feel like I gotta do this on my own."

"OK. If that's what you want." Miranda slid a beer can in Hudson's direction. "Alright, I figured now would be a good time for us to talk about . . . the size of the wedding. You want it small. I'm OK with something a little bigger."

"Well, I didn't tell you . . . that one of the reasons I want it smaller is because of Drake. I know he gets anxious in settings with lots of people, and I don't want a repeat of Wierzbowski's wedding where he passed out during the vows."

"So, this is about Mark, not you?"

"Partly. I really don't know your family that well, and I don't . . . if I don't know anybody, what's the point of inviting them? That, and I don't want anyone getting ideas about me. You haven't . . . told anyone about my past, have you?"

Miranda fell silent, her face reddening.

Hudson's heart fell in his stomach. "No."

"It was just my mom, OK!"

"But you still told _someone!_ How could you?!"

"Will, I'm sorry!"

"You couldn't talk to me about this beforehand?" Hudson shrugged, his body tense with frustration. "Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to tell you how much of a shitty person I was all those years ago? Do you have any idea how scared I was that people might assume I haven't changed? I don't want to go through that again."

Miranda covered her face, and sobbed. "I really am sorry, Will."

_I can't believe I made her cry._ Sighing, Hudson hugged her. "Well, we can't go back and change it, so . . . I accept your apology, and I'm sorry for getting mad." He kissed her head.

* * *

"You made her cry?!" Gorman glanced at Drake, who was shaking his head. They both looked at Hudson through the computer screen, disapprovingly.

"We did make up and apologize, man," Hudson replied, scratching the back of his head nervously.

"Making your woman cry is a sin," Gorman said.

"But it is forgivable," Drake added. "However, if you're not in the wrong, you don't have to apologize."

"You've never made Vasquez cry, man, how would you know?" Hudson snorted.

"At least you made up," Gorman replied.

"Yeah. Alright . . . well . . . I start job-hunting today, so, wish me luck."

"Neither of us have advice for you on that front," Drake said, with Gorman nodding in agreement.

"That's OK, man, I've done this dance before. I just called to let you know what's been going on, and to talk to Drake."

"Want me to leave you two alone?" Gorman asked.

"Nah, you can stay if you want, man. I just gotta remember to put you on the guest list-should I add your wife, too?"

"Have you settled on a date?"

"We're looking at mid-to-late October. Depends on when Drake gets home and settled in."

"I . . ." Gorman began flipping through a small planner, "That'd be right around my own anniversary. I missed last year's, so I have to really make it up this year. Hey, it's your wedding, so, don't plan it around me. We'll send you a little something."

"Thanks, man."

Drake was quiet for a moment. "I take it you wanna talk to me about yesterday?"

"Just wanted to make sure you're OK, man."

"Yesterday was an off day," Drake said. "Been dealing with the fear that I could be told I can't leave."

"I think you'll get out, man. No reason for you not to. You've . . . You've really shown yourself to be a good guy, Drake. I think the reps will see that when they look at your papers and talk to Hicks and the Sarge."

Drake smiled a little. "Thanks, Hudson."

"Hey, I will never, ever not have any faith in you, man. You're the toughest guy I know."

Drake nodded. "You're tough, too, Hudson. Don't let anything get in the way of what you wanna do now that you're a civilian, OK? And don't forget I'll be there in a few weeks to help."

* * *

_Question: How has Hudson's handling of his nightmares changed between "Dead Air" and this story?_


End file.
